Careless Talk Costs Lives

I dream of riding along city streets and country lanes on my sky blue vintage bicycle while wearing one of my fabulous full skirts with a bottle of sparkling cider, a baguette, something leafy and green (or flowers perhaps) and a Scotty puppy tucked into the basket.

I might be on a reconnaissance mission for the British government doing my part to fight the Gerries. I will discreetly snap photos as I run my fingers through my perfectly set hair when I stop for a rest. I must be careful not to puncture a tire because there is a shortage of rubber you know.

Because really, could any other bike be fit for me and my sense of style?

I found the perfect bike on Craigslist, I will just hope that Moose loves me more than that guitar amp he thinks he needs to buy.

***I really wish I had kept my then vintage bike from when I was in Junior High. It was black with white accents, classic lines and a 3 speed in the handle that you turned like the gears on a motorcycle.****

******* Update*******
My bicycle is now copper and I am wearing a trench coat and black beret. I am a member of the French Resistance smuggling weapon parts in hollowed out books. The Nazis think I am a little bit of French stuff but I have too much "Je ne sais quois."