Friday night I went to the I-66 / VP of Dior sponsored Happy Hour. Because this event was downtown, and I really despise our whole bullshit taxi system, I rode my poor neglected Harley to Mackey’s. I squeezed that bitch in between two cars and walked inside to greet the bloglings.
I did the usual Friday night routine: gym, no dinner, start drinking. This is not the best way to go, especially when Virgile Kent arrives because he starts passing the shots. For some reason, I become a very ungracious Velvet when VK hands me the secret elixir, screaming “Oh NO, I CAN’T POSSIBLY do this SHOT!” But I swigged it down, alongside a few beers and I was sufficiently buzzed. I know, what happens next is just stupid.
I got ON the motorcycle and rode home. I became a veritable daredevil, bobbing and weaving through assholes causing traffic jams where there didn’t need to be any. Then some douchebag asshole lady tried to make a left turn in front of me, into a traffic jam. Had she completed her turn, she would have stopped dead, and I would have crashed into her. But instead, I leaned on that little horn, forgetting how loud that mother is, and she stopped. I weaved around her shaking my head at her, hoping she realized how stupid she truly was.
All of this is irrelevant because the point to this story is that the motorcycle was dead the next morning. There were several scenarios that could have resulted in a dead battery, but it just meant it had to spend 24 hours on the charger. Sunday night, once my precious machinery came off the charger, I wanted to ride it up and down the garage to just make sure it worked. I cruised around a level, climbing higher in the garage when I looked down and realized Thora was running alongside me. I bust out laughing. She was so fucking cute. Her tongue was hanging down to the ground, her ears were popping up and down and I swear she was smiling. When I stopped, she stopped and looked at me. When I started going, she took off. I measured her run. She hit 12 miles an hour. Jesus. That’s faster than I can run – who knew?
I went back to see what was keeping the little sausage my other lazy dog Sammy from accompanying his mommy. He finally joined in. Here you go. I know it’s not clear, but some pictures of the Velvet family:
This post lovingly dedicated from Sammy & Thora to their friend Jake. We miss you buddy, woof woof.