The Prodigal DeLorean

She was gone, but she's back folks. She's back in her 1946 granny -basket and trebuchet-kickstand glory.

The DeLorean (my faithful steel steed who may or may not be suffering from male-pattern rusting) was in horrid shape. Her brakes actually accelerated the bike instead of stopping it. The handle bars were like a slip-n-slide (in order to steer, I had to grip the basket). The DeLorean was unfit for travel. I almost destroyed two sweet old grannies biking to school one morning. So rather than destroy the lives of innocent pedestrians, I thought I would bench the DeLorean until I could replace the handle bars.

Well on Sunday I walked out to my steel steed and was hoping to get her fixed up, but she wasn't there. The thought of some man who doesn't hold doors open for women and who hasn't flossed since the 80s climbing aboard the DeLorean under the cloak of night made my skin crawl and my heart splinter...

Well, thankfully that thief without manners or dental hygiene is also lazy. Once he figured out that the DeLorean was a hazard with no brakes or steering, he abandoned it on road behind our apartment. Matt found it the other day just sitting there in a homeless confusion.

The DeLorean is back (and she begged me to lock her up every night...).