I had to make the "Walk of Shame" to the bike shop today.
I tried and tried and tried and tried, but I just could not get the fucking new tyre onto my wheel.
So I had to go and ask the man to do it for me...
In fairness he did say it was a tricky one and he had to use his special tool thing to do it..but nevertheless, my masculinity was cruelly undermined.
As he handed me the pink frock and skipping rope, I was crestfallen.
I put the dress on and skipped out the shop with all the dignity I could muster.
He didn't charge me anything, but I felt obliged to buy something and took the opportunity to purchase a rather smart reflective, waistcoat-type thing, as we ready ourselves to be plunged into perpetual darkness when the dreaded "putting the clocks back" event occurs...a week on Sunday I believe? hideous...I hate when that happens...
In my ideal lifestyle, I would choose that moment to travel to my luxury villa in Barbados to spend the duration of the British winter in more convivial surroundings.
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