Sandy Supposes....

Bicycle Balancing Bovines

PROMPT: You walk out of the grocery store one day and discover that the streets are full of cows on bicycles. What's even weirder is that you're the only one who finds this odd. What's going on? It's your story, you show us.

          Sighing, I wrestled to push my laden shopping cart over the uneven pavement of the parking lot. Scarred, squeaky wheels protested and bawked. It was as if squared tires were struggling to turn, and every revolution caused the cart to buck. One jarring jolt catapulted a cantaloupe into the air, and I chased its wobbly tumble along the ground. I cornered my wayward melon under the grill of a parked pick-up truck, and I was grateful that it could not understand my cursing as I hunkered down to retrieve it. One of my feet slipped and kicked the fruit towards the truck's exhaust pipe. Grocery shopping had turned into a recovery recon. What had happened to a quick 'in and out'?

          Muttering that this melon better be worth it and bemoaning its expense, I stumbled to the rear fender. It was a bit of a stretch, but I snagged my muddy melon, and straightened up. Too late, I realized my mistake; my melon, the one perched atop my shoulders, sideswiped a solid steel tow hitch. Shooting pain exploded between my ears, and my eyes instantly teared up. Clutching my throbbing head, I anticipated seeing swirling stars, but instead I saw cows, cows pedalling bicycles. Oh no, did I have a brain injury; was I hallucinating?

          I shook my head, and that was a mistake. Rubbing my blurry, befuddled eyes, I noticed that the cows were still across the street. Holy Holsteins, they had udders! Black and white bovines were balancing on bicycles while I sagged against the truck's tail gate.

          Snatching quick glances around me, I noticed people busy doing what they always did in parking lots. Some were transferring groceries from carts to vehicle trunks. Some spoke on handheld cell phones, waving their free hands in the air, and pacing. Mothers pulled tiny, wriggling tots along by the hand. Older kids chased each other amongst the cars, whooping, as they played tag. I heard dogs barking, car doors slamming shut, engines idling. How did a herd of cow cyclers fit? Should I also expect to see a sheepdog or two, or a farmer, or a tractor?

         Stumbling back to the store's entrance, I collide with a bag boy corralling a long line of shopping carts. A stammering mad woman with frazzled hair and nerves didn't seem to unduly alarm him. He shrugged his skinny shoulders, and nodded to a poster taped to a door. Squinting at the paper, I could see images of cows on bikes under a banner that read, Dairy Farmers Bike to Raise Awareness About Rising Costs; Feed 'Udderly' Expensive.

         Groaning, I hurried back to my waiting cart. I remembered the milk I'd just purchased; it needed to be stored in my refrigerator. For what it had cost, it might as well have been liquid gold. The dairy farmers were correct; feeding my family is 'udderly' expensive.