Handback

I’m now boyless until my beloved returns from a quick day trip to Geneva. The boys’ mother pulled a bit of a blinder. She said her boys came as a package. If I wanted them I’d have to take their Dad too. Okay, he’s younger than my beloved, more domesticated and spends about the same amount of time away from home. But, he too is seriously high maintenance. Indeed, I spent quite a few hours this week sorting out his recent employment issues. You see, I’m his helper of last resort and, if I were to take him on, would become his helper of first resort too. So, on balance, there seems little point in exchanging one high maintenance man for another despite his gorgeous appendages. I’ll just borrow them from time to time.

I had promised to return them to their mother in an exhausted state. I’m a woman who delivers on her promises. The younger one could barely keep his eyes open yesterday afternoon after we’d raced around the circuit for the forthcominfg La Ronde and practised some interval sprinting. I’ve had him out on the bike almost every day, plus we’ve had trips to the pool and energetic games of boules, ping-pong, basket-ball and table-football.  Is it any wonder he’s worn out? The other one, still recovering from the stress of his exams, was already snoozing round the pool. The boys are not going to let on how I did it. After all who wants to admit they’ve been worn out by a woman old enough to be their grandmother. Exactly!

I’ve really enjoyed looking after them and will happily do it again to ensure their mother’s peace of mind. Mind you she’s probably none too pleased that I’ve indulged the younger one by lending him my spare road bike  –  the Orbea –  and an old pair of my cycling shoes. He’s desperate to start racing and, though he’s not been riding long, I’d put money on him to win his age group in the upcoming La Ronde. He’s going to be a fantastic little cyclist and maybe he’ll follow his father into the profession. Yes, it’s in his DNA.

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