Bicycles and birthdays
Once upon a time, it was my 8th birthday. 8th birthday's were special because my parents would take us out to dinner on The Queen Mary (a huge old ship in Long Beach).
My sisters probably know where I'm going with this.
I had just learned how to ride a 2-wheel bike without the training wheels. My dad, my older sister, and I decided to go for a ride around the block. I'm not sure where my little sis was because I distinctly remember my mom coming home after the incident so maybe we left her alone at the house?
Everything was going fine. I was killing it on that 2-wheeler. I was even getting daring and swerving the steering wheel a bit. I was having a blast as I flew down the street on my Huffy with the colorful strings flowing from my handlebars. My plastic white basket was holding a Barbie and I was cruisin' like a pro.
And then... out of nowhere, a car came racing past me almost running me over! I swerved to save my life and hit another car and flew over the handlebars, landing on my face.
At least that's how I remember it.
Samantha says allegedly there was no car and I just ran into a parked car for no reason at all, but why on earth would I run into a parked car??
At any rate, it was not a pretty sight. Since I landed on my face, my hands and knees were only scratched but the right side of my face was pretty torn up. My dad made me ride my bike home and kept telling me to stop crying because the salty tears were getting in my cuts and making it burn more.
I did not stop crying because half of my face had been torn off.
Okay, I exaggerate a little.
At any rate, my parents asked me if I still wanted to go to the Queen Mary for my birthday dinner. Of course I did! I was not about to let a little raw flesh ruin my birthday. So my mom curled my hair, I put on my navy blue polka dot dress and my Phantom of the Opera mask (just kidding) and enjoyed my 8th birthday after all. In reality, I had about 6 bandages covering my face and there are definitely pictures of this but I couldn't find any.
Moral of the story: Bicycles are evil and not to be trusted. Or don't let a little mishap ruin your day. Or ALWAYS THROW YOUR HANDS IN FRONT OF YOU WHEN YOU FALL OFF A BIKE. A sprained wrist is prettier than a scarred face.
My sisters probably know where I'm going with this.
I had just learned how to ride a 2-wheel bike without the training wheels. My dad, my older sister, and I decided to go for a ride around the block. I'm not sure where my little sis was because I distinctly remember my mom coming home after the incident so maybe we left her alone at the house?
Everything was going fine. I was killing it on that 2-wheeler. I was even getting daring and swerving the steering wheel a bit. I was having a blast as I flew down the street on my Huffy with the colorful strings flowing from my handlebars. My plastic white basket was holding a Barbie and I was cruisin' like a pro.
And then... out of nowhere, a car came racing past me almost running me over! I swerved to save my life and hit another car and flew over the handlebars, landing on my face.
At least that's how I remember it.
Samantha says allegedly there was no car and I just ran into a parked car for no reason at all, but why on earth would I run into a parked car??
At any rate, it was not a pretty sight. Since I landed on my face, my hands and knees were only scratched but the right side of my face was pretty torn up. My dad made me ride my bike home and kept telling me to stop crying because the salty tears were getting in my cuts and making it burn more.
I did not stop crying because half of my face had been torn off.
Okay, I exaggerate a little.
At any rate, my parents asked me if I still wanted to go to the Queen Mary for my birthday dinner. Of course I did! I was not about to let a little raw flesh ruin my birthday. So my mom curled my hair, I put on my navy blue polka dot dress and my Phantom of the Opera mask (just kidding) and enjoyed my 8th birthday after all. In reality, I had about 6 bandages covering my face and there are definitely pictures of this but I couldn't find any.
Moral of the story: Bicycles are evil and not to be trusted. Or don't let a little mishap ruin your day. Or ALWAYS THROW YOUR HANDS IN FRONT OF YOU WHEN YOU FALL OFF A BIKE. A sprained wrist is prettier than a scarred face.
