My husband bought me a lovely little present. A 1956 Rambler 500 bicycle, blue with white trim and a wire basket. She’s a rough old girl, but she just needs a little loving, a little sprucing.
On the drive home, I think about what I would name her. I’m big on naming things. My bicycle in Australia was Miss Daisy, my car, Cracking Rosie. In a downtown apartment I lived in my early twenties, I stuck a label above my mail box that said ‘H. Golightly’. Any excuse to make a movie/book/music reference I guess. What would I call her?
She’s icy blue, and classy as hell, how about Grace Kelly?
But she’s also a sweetheart, maybe Doris Day?
Is there anything cuter than Audrey Hepburn?
I love Carole Lombard, and who doesn’t want room for your dog? (I’d like to give a shout out to my good friend Harriet for this one).
Should Igo for something exotic, Brigitte Bardot?
Maybe something short, a la Twiggy?
I reckon this bike is a bit feisty, if she talked maybe she’s sound like Katherine Hepburn.
I won’t commit just yet, I think. Riding around the parking lot, on this nearly sixty year year old bicycle, I think about when she was brand spanking new. And all the people that owned her. This bitch has seen some things. And so I named her Norma Jeane. And then the bike belonged to me, even though we had already purchased her and bought her all the way home.
(Just a snap of me riding bikes with Audrey Hepburn. I think the bicycle is rather slimming, don’t you?)
All Images Courtesy of Google