Phuthu Stay Phut, Don't go!

I have decided that I am not letting Superjerm ride on his own anymore. I miss out on way too much action. I want to experience first-hand heart palpitations, the kind that sends adrenaline to the capillaries of your pinkies. So, first it was the Black Mamba, then it was the valley fires and this weekend he almost broke someone’s nasal cartilage. Not that I’d like to watch that first-hand or anything. Knuckle-on-nose contact is not my kinda thing.  So you want to know what happened right? Well, I’ll tell you in the next paragraph.

My man, the man I signed up to procreate with, was almost run over by a dude who thought it was fun and funny to drive within a quarter of a meter of Superjerm, slam the hooter full blast and attempt to entertain his kids in the back seat.  Yes the kids found it extremely funny, but they, along with their punk dad, don’t really know how many cyclists are killed due to that type of monumental stupidity.

Needless to say I experienced heart palpitations at the thought of the events that could’ve unfolded.

Now, my man is a very gentle man, he’s the type of guy that saves the cockroaches and slugs that would otherwise be Doomed to death by many a housewife. So, I was all wide-eyed when he told me that he had chased the car down to a BP petrol stop, located the punk and grabbed him by his, uhum, throat and uhum…almost broke his uhum…nose. But he didn’t, there was no blood shed, for which I am thankful. He was showered with profanities instead. But why would my man want to reconstruct someone’s nose, I thought?  Maybe it was a friendly gesture on behalf of all the other cyclists that have had close calls? Maybe it was a testosterone self-check? Maybe he wanted to make sure the punk never did that again? Yes, maybe that was it.

So what do you do when your man has had a close-up encounter with the peeling paintwork of a citi golf?

You bake him the best chocolate cupcakes ever…

And then you take photos of them..

..just to remind him how good they were.