The Old Coot buys and sells and buys

Last year it was golf clubs; this year it’s a bicycle. I bought a new set of clubs at Dicks and donated the old ones to the Open Door Mission so they could sell them in their outlet store. One round of golf convinced me I’d made a mistake. Dicks generously took the clubs back and I went to the Open Door store and bought back my old clubs, all but one. Someone had purchased it; the club is 30 years old. They will find that out, the first time they pull it out of their bag and step to the tee and are greeted by a loud roar of laughter from the other golfers.   

That was then; this is now, the year I bought back my bike. I sold it to my friend John, of Ormond Beach, Florida, because of an affliction I came down with that I thought was permanent and progressive (Charcot Tooth Marie Disease). It caused the muscles in my arms and legs to drastically lose strength. But, after several months of intense medical investigation it was determined that the condition was actually caused by the statin drug (cholesterol medicine) I’d been taking for several years. A few doses of steroids and several months of recovery started me back on track. In time, I should make it to full strength (old coot strength that is, nothing to brag about). 

I texted John to see if he would be interested in selling the bicycle back to me. His response was, “Sure!” I had a caveat; I needed to see if I could get on it. It’s a “boys” bike and old coots like me have a hard time swinging our leg up and over the bar. It’s why we generally buy step through bikes or girl’s bikes.

He texted back, saying he wasn’t home at the moment, but we could set up a time to get together, he’d even pump up the tires. I replied, “I’ll look at my busy schedule and get back to you. I looked; it took less than a second and texted him, “My schedule looks good for this afternoon and all day, every day for the next four months.” 

He replied, “NOW, THAT SHOULD GO IN ONE OF YOUR ARTICLES.” So here it is. An admission that I have nothing on my schedule for the next four months, unless you count an eleven AM, a four PM and an after supper nap every day. Hey, it’s tough being an old coot.    

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