Today I took a Segway Human Transporter tour of this fine-ass city...ok, I'm just going to give you a moment to revel in what a superior nerd I am to you....go ahead...what use is your Star Trek knowledge now huh? If I had my way, all of you would have to get a crazy look on your face and raise your goblet of geek to me.
As I was saying, I took a Segway tour today and just because you asked, yes there was a cute French-American boy there, and yes, I did try to impress him with my mad Segway skillz (that's right, I said it, my mad Segway skillz, once again...crazy look...goblet of geek...in the air...raise it high...thank you), and no, shockingly, he was not impressed that I could draw the number 98 going backwards on my Segway...hey, 98 is full of curves, it's like the dead man's cliff of numbers to draw on a Segway. Yes, I did fall off showing off my mad Segway skillz and yes, the phrase, "Hey, you probably shouldn't try to jump over a curb with one of these things," was used and just so you know, jumping a curb with one of those things IS awesome and was totally worth being reprimanded for.
During our mid-tour lunch break, my Segway love drank coffee and smoked cigarettes with that irresistable Euro grace that only makes me spill more food on myself than I usually do. There's something about people with a natural ability to do things with ease that makes me more awkward, more clumsy, more sweaty and stuttery and out of place than ever. Just as I had written myself off as uncharmingly freakish, the boyfriend, the real one, came home and asked, "hey, do you want to spend some time tonight slow dancing in our tiny strip of a kitchen?" And I blushed. And I smiled. And I took his hand and hummed the first few bars of a song I heard long ago.