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