From Shakespeare to Thomas Hardy and right up to Shirley Jackson, I have an abiding love of old timey literature. (And yes, I do have to use words like “abiding” in this circumstance. I can be pretentious if I want, DON’T JUDGE ME!!!)
I’ve fallen in love with an inanimate object. It’s been coming on for a while now, but yesterday it hit me.
Now don’t get me wrong, it’s not a weird fetishistic thing like those women who smear themselves with the grease from Ferris Wheels or gyrate on picket fences. Creeeepy! And it’s not an idealistic love where the mere idea of it appeals to me. No, the love I hold for my bike is not only aesthetic but entirely practical.