1999. I’m nine years old.
I own the ugliest bike helmet I’ve ever laid eyes on. It is SO SO bad. I think someone sawed a bowling ball in half, added a buckle, and called it a helmet.
Picture this: A scrawny kid with a GIANT head of long, thick hair, all stuffed into an oversized foam half-dome decorated with corny 80s designs. You can imagine all the friends this helmet is not making for me.
However, I absolutely love riding my bike. So I put my jumbo brain capsule to use and come up with a solution. This is where my natural talent for rhyming and poor grammar come in handy. I’ve developed a habit where every time someone sees me on my bike, I chant this song to myself,
“She don’t know me. She don’t care. She don’t give me peach or pear.”
Pretty catchy, eh?
It’s been over 20 years and I still…wear that helmet. JK. If you can believe it, my giant head eventually outgrows that monster. (and all other one-size-fits-all headwear) But! I will still on occasion sing that song to myself. If 9-year-old Katie can have that level of confidence, then 32-year Katie can too.