Stroller Derby Again

We are aspiring home and or condo owners. When the next dust bowl blows in to town then we can afford something in our neighborhood where we currently rent a 1,000 square foot overly priced apartment three blocks from my local sandy surf spot.

At sunsets we walk the ave’s of our desired homes to own, with the boy in tow. Often nodding hellos to other couples walking their cats, or pushing strollers of which there seems to be dozens within a three block radius of us. As we gallivant around we always stop to survey new realtors poles protruding from crisp lawns in hopes of seeing a low dollar sign.

Tonight we discovered two fresh ones directly across the street from each other. One thirty year old condo, and one brand spanking new house. I stopped at the condos’ post as Lilly ran across the street to grab a flier from the houses’ post. Map and price here.

I set the Peg-Perego at an angle and set the breaks atop the extremely steep hill while I teetered over the edge of the lawns wall to grab the flyer.

The Boy dreaming of gargantuan luscious milk and honey filled dripping hooters.

Lilly standing across the street transfixed on the $1.6, 3 bedroom house.

With flyer in hand, I stand right directly smack dab in front of overly priced top of the line safety inspected paper clip brake installed Peg-Perego. I marvel at 1,400 sqft 2 bedroom 650-grand condo.

Lilly’s shrieks of parental desperation fill the suburban evening’s air as her walk back across the street becomes a flying torpedo of motherly fear.

Her cry alarms me. As I lift my head I see the Peg-Perego gallivanting down the hill, already ten feet beyond my grasp. Last stop Torrance Blvd, full speed ahead!

Who would of thunk it? I want my money back. I even parked it at an angle from the hill. Who ever made the front tires swivel should be fired. Or, given a raise.

Lilly’s running, I’m running, The Boy is rolling. The hill seems to be getting steeper as we all go.

Big fat dude with a stogy hanging off his lip and a beer in hand takes a singular step out onto the sidewalk and creates an impassable barrier of sagging, bulging, beer belly induced behemoth of a bumper of which the Peg-Perego squishes right into, rebounding as soft as a feather drifting into the summers breeze.

I don’t know if Lilly would have divorced me if the fat dude wasn’t there. But eventually The Boy would have come to a stop anyway right? And of course I would have caught up to him, or he could have plastered into a wall, or hit the grass and gone careening overboard, or even hopping a curb and flying out into the road rash inducing street.

Lilly held him tight to her bosom the entire way home. As we were entering the gate, “Lilly, I told you we should have got a Volvo. Their safety rating is impeccable.” My feeble attempt at comedy always seems to come at the wrong time. And it wasn’t even funny, merely a gross attempt and easing the tension fuming from her brow.

She nailed me with a solid closed fist back hand right into my gut just as I exhaled. Her back hands always come at the perfect time.

The gate closed and locked as I tried to catch my breath.

“Lilly? Son?”