Disco Fingers

COULD IT BE ANY MORE FREAKIN COLD IN LAUNCESTON? Why didn't I just go the whole hog and move to Antarctica? Riding a motorbike to work in the morning is the pits in weather like this. I must look a sight to anyone waiting at the lights in the morning… hunched over the handlebars like a giant black foetus, the only sign of life being a puff of frosty air being emitted from beneath my visor every couple of seconds. I even walk to the post office to get the mail with my bike jacket and snowman pants still on. I get a few funny looks from the usual pantyhose-clad, high-heel-wearing, makeup-smeared office girls that usually show up there at that time of morning. They might look more 'shaggable-secretary' than me, but at least I'm warm.

I have heat grips on Gus, which helps a bit. Since it's been cold, I've noticed a strange riding habit of mine – on each hand I have three fingers and thumb firmly wrapped around the grips, but my index fingers stick out in front, pointing the way, like I'm some sort of deranged disco rider. I'd never noticed these stray digits before – now that it's freezing, all the rest of my fingers are nicely warmed by the heat grips, except for those two, protruding as though I'm some sort of human forklift. "Which way is that scooter going?" I can sense pedestrians thinking as I ride past. "That way! Straight ahead for me!" my fingers reply, removing all doubt from their minds. This inadvertent riding style of mine also has the potential to cause conflict whilst waiting at traffic lights. I can picture it – I'm at the front of the queue, waiting to take off. Across the intersection, the guy in the car facing me sees my wayward fingers. He looks confused at first, then agitated. "Me?" he mouths from behind the wheel. "Yes. YOU" reply my fingers menacingly. Before I know it, we're having fisticuffs in the middle of the intersection in Launceston peak hour traffic. The potential for this sort of misunderstanding is very real indeed. I'm just not sure what I can do about it.

Hmm. I'm sitting here, at nine o'clock on a Friday night, eating grated cheese and writing about my fingers. What a pathetic life I lead… bwahahaha.