An assortment of bruises

Part II of The Teacher's Party


Mr. W & Mr. B left the casino with loads of cash (or $100 in winnings each) - they wanted a cab, but we had our bikes - so we piled on - Mr. W as driver and I as passenger of my bike - and James as driver and Mr. B as passenger on his. Mr. W doesn't know how to ride a bike - I learned this immediately, because he couldn't pedal more than two feet at a time before stopping. He would turn violently in the opposite direction of the potential fall. This was hysterical to me, so I could not stop laughing, which frustrated Mr. W even further - he kept repeating in his teacher voice - "Heather - listen - you have to stop laughing - I can't concentrate if you keep laughing." This made me laugh harder, because only a person who does not know how to ride a bike needs to concentrate when biking - though he was adamant about the fact that he was a skilled bikeman. I tried to take over the position of pedaler - but Mr. W was too heavy.


Mr. B and James were long gone - and we were still only a block away from the casino. We switched again and this time I held my breath to keep from making any laughing noise - we were able to slowly and unsteadily make our way down the river road. Mr. W kicked my shins and calves with every pedal and he kept sitting on my lap, which pushed me further and further off the bike seat. After the sheer delight of the situation passed (which was about a mile into it), the extreme pain of being kicked and sat on became too much to handle, so I demanded Mr. W stop the bike and I decided to walk the remainder of the trip.

A few hundred feet later we found James & Mr. B who had doubled back to look for us - so we switched bike partners. I got to ride with my sweetie who knows how to pedal a bike - and Mr. B got the non-pedaler. We went another mile or so before they had reorganized again - with Mr. B biking alone and Andrew running along beside. Mr. W had procured a basketball along the way and was showing off his moves. He was also whining about how far we had gone and wanted to know if we were ever going to get there. Wherever "there" was - only James seemed to know for sure.

We arrived at the Saint, James' destination of choice, a bar he had been wanting to check out. The evening continued with pork rinds (Mr. B's choice), several phone calls to Mr. W's girlfriend, a dance contest between the boys, and Mr. B's failed attempt to win over a hot lady 1o years his senior. James tried to intervene on his friend's behalf, but the hot lady said Mr. B was just too young, however, she thought James looked about the right age for her. All the while, Mr. W kept asking me advice on how to get his girlfriend, whom he adores, to stop talking to him about their relationship while he watches TV. I reflected for a moment and thought back to a lesson learned in teacher training - always give students two options, so I replied, "You have two choices - deal with it - or - date an older woman. They are usually more secure and definitely more interesting." Mr. W was unimpressed and went back to text-messaging his young, cute chatty patty, but at least he stopped asking me questions for which he didn't really want the answer. And I could concentrate on icing my many new bruises.