In Which The Girls Become Biker Chicks

As you know, my sister Monica can't drive for awhile due to her latest EBF (Electric Brain Fart) episode.  This is very devastating as you can imagine because it makes her dependent on other people to drive her around.  Previously she was allowed to ride a bike to get here and there but this time the doctor said "No Way Parkay" to that unless she was with someone (Which kinda defeats the purpose).  This was truly adding insult to injury for her.  It broke my heart.   Apparently you never do stop feeling like you need to take care of your little sister even when she is REALLY REALLY OLD.  So I told her I would buy her a new bike for her birthday anyhow and that I would even, in an example of even more loving devotion than attending to her in just a bra and jeans, get a bike too and would ride with her.  Friday evening at about 5:30pm we had Lauren drive us to Walmart- completely confident that we would purchase bikes and ride home in time to cook dinner.  We found the bikes we liked pretty quickly.  Monica found a purple Cruiser reminding her of her childhood bike.  Except her bike from when she was a kid had a banana seat, those big old handle bars and her blood on it from all the horrible biking accidents she had including one particular incident where she sliced open the bottom of her foot on the bike chain.  I still have nightmares about that one.  (Shudder).  Anyhow.... We also bought bike chains and locks and helmets that matched our bikes.  Because if you are going to have helmet hair it is crucial that the helmet is at least cute.  We bought our stuff and headed out the door.  We got on our bikes and of course my seat is too low and the bolt latch screw big wad of bubble gum thingie that adjusts it is broken.  So Monica parks outside the entrance and I take my bike in to Customer Service where they say they will call someone up to fix the thingie.  I believe they called the Official Walmart Thingie Manager.  Anyhow.... I went back outside to tell Monica what was going on and she headed inside to do some shopping while we were stuck there anyhow.
So I stood there with a bike and watched the Walmart parade go by.  This is a blogger paradise.  I had several people compliment me on my very cool bike.  I had several people who seemed to think I was begging for money.  This was a very interesting sociological experience.  Exactly how can you tell the difference between a homeless person with her belongings in her backpack and someone who is a World Famous Blogger, Corporate Controller Obese Supportive Sister type person?  It was confusing to people.  So here is a clue:  Some people ride bikes for fun and exercise not because they have to.  Some people ride bikes because they are supporting their epileptic sisters.   Anyhow... eventually Monica came out.  She had bought a basket, water bottle holder and Ching Ching bell for her bike.  She got me one too!  So I went back into Walmart to find they had fixed the bike.  So off we go.... only to discover that something else is wrong.  My bike is just not right.  Either it is not put together right or.......I am too heavy for it.  I stand there weighing my options (HA-- get it?) (big fat woman is weighing her options?" and decide to take it back- which is so much fun.  I go up to the Customer Service person and whisper "I am killing this bike.  I need a bike built for hippopotamuses" I figure my best option is to go home do some research by googling "BIKES THAT ARE GOOD FOR REALLY BIG FAT WOMEN". 
It is now sunset.  About 7:00pm.  We realize that there is no one we can think of who has a vehicle big enough to take the bike and us as well as loves us enough to come rescue us and my kids are not  home to come pick us up and so we start the trek home:  Monica riding her bike and me walking.  It is weird how driving to Walmart seems to be a pretty short trip but walking to Walmart is like 100 miles in the arrid desert heat AND 5 feet of snow uphill the whole way with the wind blowing 150 mph.  Brutal.  And everyone stares at you.  Since our mom taught us to share we trade riding the bike and walking.  When I am walking I am having fun pretending to be a Zombie (that is right-- I am obessed with reading Zombie Apocalypse novels) except when someone can see me not because I would be embarrassed but because I don't want to appear to be imitating a person who is handicapped.  Not that handicapped individuals appear to be Zombies or vice versa, but that the physical movements are similar until you see the dead eyes.  Pretending to be a Zombie is really fun.  Try it.   I digress.  My sister, on the other hand, leaves her helmet on when she is walking also giving the impression that her epilepsy has progressed to the point that she is in eminent danger of causing brain damage to herself at any time. 
The sun is setting as we drag ourselves into the house.
So right now we are Half a set of biker chicks.
Stay tuned for upcoming developments.