Saturday night was a good for walking, so I left my bike at C—'s house where'd I'd locked it a few hours before and just hoofed it back home.
Sunday, I went in the late afternoon to get the bike. Outside was slush and mess, so I took the car, jammed the bike in the best I could. While mentally kickboxing geometry, I realized I'd have to take the front wheel off.
When I did, I noticed a wrapped condom weaved in the spokes, like how a kid would do with a baseball card.
C—, I thought. C— C— C—.
When I took my bike out of the car to ride to work yesterday, I undid the condom from the spoke. Obviously, I wasn't all that into the idea of lugging a love medallion (errr) in my pocket at the office all day, so I put it in the change tray, locked the car door and biked off.
Later at night, A—, dear sweet wife that she is, ran to the store to pick up some things to lighten the cold that's been weighing down on me. She called me as soon as she got into the car. Why's there a condom in here?
I explained about C—. She knows him, how he is. Said ok.
When she got back, she seemed agitated.
Me: Are things were ok?
Me: So what's wrong.
Me: Is it the condom? C— left it there, swear. He thought it'd be funny. Do you think I'm messing around on you or something?
Her: Trust me, C— leaving a condom in your spokes is way more believable than you being able to get laid by someone else.
Guess she just didn't feel much like talking afterall.