Plastic Motorcylces

I remember coming home one day to find my little brother riding a brand new plastic toy motorcycle. Since he was only about four years old, mom bought him the kind you had to peddle. I was so pissed when I saw him on that thing.

“Where’d you get that?”
“Mom took me to Toys R Us.”
“Without me?!”

The audacity of that woman to take him and not me. I was furious and I marched right into that house and demanded some answers.

“How come you took him to Toys R Us but you didn’t take me?”
“Because Bella, you were nowhere to be found. Had you stayed close to home like I told you, you could have gone and got yourself a toy too, but no, you took off. Well, too bad, that’s what you get.”

My brother paid for that comment for the next ten years.

Crying and pouting, I walked to the window and looked at him on that stupid plastic motorcycle.

“Look at him on that cute little thing. He looks adorable. Peddle, Tony! You have to peddle it!”

My mother always wondered how a great big hole got into the plastic tire.