when I was riding my red tricycle one day. It had white trim and was a beauty – a sizeable step up from my low riding, masculine Big Wheel. Although I’d had great power and a low center of gravity on the Big Wheel, the elegance and femininity of the tricycle was a breath of fresh air.
I loved my new treasure so much I ceaselessly peddled back and forth on our long, flat driveway, smelling the lilacs that made me sneeze like crazy and enjoying the roses in bloom beside the house. The wind whipping through my long hair was invigorating and freeing. Why hadn’t Mom and Dad suggested I graduate to a tricycle sooner?
If only the whole world could experience the thrill of my wheels. Life is such a different beast when you’re speeding through it on a tricycle. Even the sky looks different, and the cloudsss….agh!
* * *
“Heather, are you okay? Why are you screaming,” Jan asked as she ran out the front door of the house in response to her daughter’s sounds of distress. “What happ – oh no!”
Jan was greeted by the sight of her middle child’s head pinned to the back step of the tricycle and her feet up by the handlebars. On closer inspection Jan determined that Heather’s precious locks of hair were wrapped around the rear wheels of the tricycle like an invasive vine around a tree trunk in the jungle.
“What in the world have you gotten yourself into this time?”
“I wwwas just looking at the clouds while riding. It was so pretty to looook up,” the captive child stuttered between sobs.
And so began the arduous task of removing Heather’s hair bit by bit from the greasy wheels. Some of her beautiful mane was ultimately sacrificed for the cause. Thankfully she had enough hair to go around.