And I’m not talking about motorcycles. As a duckling, I used to enjoy riding a scooter. I would zoom along the sidewalk, wind in my feathers. I used them so much, they became rather beat up. One day, when going quickly down a steep hill, I decided to stop, and good thing, too. Not long after, the scooter split in two. Just like that. Handle bars and the part you stand on decided they didn’t like each other anymore, and if they had turned on each other while I was speeding down that hill, I would have gone flying, and not the good duck kind of flying, but the kind of flying where you realize how similar your noggin is to a watermelon. And I don’t even like watermelons.
Despite my near death experience, I got a new scooter, this one lower to the ground, so it would scrape on parts of the sidewalk. It annoyed me, but I kept on, to the point where I eventually ended up falling off, scraping my knees quite badly. My mom put on Neosporin and then gauze, and you would think that would be that. But, no, my troubles weren’t over. They were really just beginning. What happened next was one of the most horrifying things that’s ever happened to me. I woke up to find my skin growing over the gauze. It was truly shocking, to say the least. So we had to use something on my knees, peroxide or something, and then had to pull the threads of gauze out one by one. Needless to say, I will never use gauze again, if I can help it. And I hope all my past scooters are rotting in a landfill somewhere.
The Duck That No Longer Scoots