The hair is not growing back on my legs.
Lucky. I'm gonna have to get a wax. And a mani-pedi. Are you gonna make soccer tonight? (In reference to an informal grown-up soccer game at the park)
I'd like to. Not the mani-pedi...
Later I sent him this text:
The old ky home tour is sept 7-8 Louisville to Bardstown. I'm in L'ville 9-11 for a conference. If you could stay with me at the hotel that would be awesome.
As the text flitted off into the ether I realized it had gone to Jeff...and NOT to my wife where I had intended it to go. I sent an "oops" text on its tail, but no response came until much later:
OK. Its about time to start getting on it again. After preservation, its mandatory 5am adventure rides every sat.
Huh, how could he ignore my obvious gaff? Was it as weird for him as it was for me?
After another prodding text I got this:
Those texts came out of order. I'm a little confused. You'd have to stay overnight somewhere?
I called him. This texting thing just gets me in trouble. Once I had explained the whole thing we were both less confused and seemingly rooted in our respective manhoods. Er, maybe I should stop while I'm ahead...
Thats it! No more leg shaving for me! Not gonna do it! Not unless I have a compelling reason to go to a showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show and need to look good in fishnet tights.
When I was telling Mandy about the whole exchange at home that night my six year old piped up:
"You shaved your legs?"
The important thing to note in all this space oddity is that the Mozhican and I have reinstituted the Dawn Patrol School of Mountain Biking Hard Knocks.
Sessions will commence forthwith.