Men are from...

We went on a bike ride this early Spring weekend- the first hint of the summer to come. Warm days sprinkled with the scent of blossom- mmm....
A bike ride was in order to stir the blood after a winter's stillness. Our wheels of torture came out storage: I brushed my seat off with my palm and declared mine ready! My husband cannot do that. He cannot simply ride. First the air compressor was assembled and cleaned then our tires were checked. Oil and gears and wrenches and adjustments...
I went back into the house to get myself ready. Not to warm up the muscles, mind you... I took a long shower and shaved the accumulation of winter hair, clogging the drain. I softened my skin and scented it with freesia. A spring sweet blouse with strawberries, princess pouf sleeves and a brocade ribbon on the left shoulder blade was brought out: complimenting my petal pushers. I painted my toenails to match and found the perfect sandal. I came downstairs ready to decorate my bicycle with pansies from the garden.
"I thought we were biking!!" My husband's astonishment at seeing my efforts.
He was in ninja mode: full bike gear, helmut, mirrors, emergency kit, back up water, and locks.

We rode seven miles on the B&A trail: paved and suburban. It was as pleasant a day as anyone wanted and our styles may have looked opposite from afar, but from within and around the last twenty years we have managed to meld these styles into a freedom of no hands on the wheel and will continue to blend this mismatch until we die.