Boy, I leave for a few hours to work and this area has turned into a hairy, pink chapstick!![]()
For the record, I never considered myself "prissy." Yeah, I tend to be a fashionista at times but in my work I have to deal with toxic art materials, boiling rabbit skin glue, power drills and sometimes, wading through horse manure.
In contrast, my friends include an ultramarathoner, an elite-level age grouper in both road/track tri and a former multi-day adventure racer. To them, anyone who refuses to pee on the run/bike or stops for minor things like, say, broken bones is considered on the wimpy side.
Why in the world they decided to adopt me as their pet project is beyond me, but there seems to be no going back. I feel like I'm in that scene from the movie "Freaks" when the carnival side show freaks stomp around and chant to the initiate: "We accept her, we accept her! One of us, one of us!"![]()
{{{{{{{Looking around for the Kool-Aid}}}}}}}
I will get my revenge, though. By next season, they will all have freshly-pressed kits matching their bikes (with coordinating shoe covers), and maybe a little pink lipstick, too!![]()