The Pink Stingray ...

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The Pink Stingray

If you think this is going to be a story about how I dreamed of getting Pink Stingray for Christmas and then woke up to one on Christmas morning, boy are you wrong.

Last night, I was feeling nostalgic and went online searching for the toys of my youth.  I started thinking about the bikes my sisters had, matching Pink Stingrays similar to the picture of the one above.  I was too old for Stingrays; I had a 10-speed.

For whatever reason, one sunny day I had to borrow one of their bikes to ride the 8 blocks down to Albertsons to purchase some sanitary supplies.  Maybe my bike had a flat tire.  Maybe I wanted to use the basket (we didn't have backpacks in those days).
 

There was some boy that I had a huge crush on at the time, though for the life of me I don't remember his name anymore.  That is how those things go, as you age.   I felt like I was risking humiliation by the possibility of running into that boy and being seen on that bike.  To make matters worse, I was sure that if a chance meeting did occur, he would say, hey, what is in the bag in the basket of your Pink Stingray?  I was mortified just thinking about the whole scenario! 

It was necessary that I went to Albertsons in a timely manner, so I took my chances on that bike.  My worries were unfounded, like so many worries turn out to be.  I made it to the store and back without getting stopped by the cute, inquisitive boy of my dreams.  And I probably made sure my bike was in tip-top shape in the future, just in case of emergency.

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