My bike. It’s an old bike, grandma-style, and the first time I sat on it’s saddle it was like it was meant to be. I attached some plastic roses to my basket (picture them really nice please – not tacky) and a few months ago I painted it. My bike is green with white flowers on it. It might be a bit broken (who needs a light anyway? Just kidding, Mama) but it’s the prettiest bike in town – even prettier than the red one with white dots.
And everywhere we go, people turn their head.