On a little shopping trip last weekend, I left Greg and Eleanor to wander through REI while I looked in a nearby clothing store. Eleanor ended up climbing in one stroller after the next despite having decided six months ago that she would never again ride in the stroller that we own.
When I returned to REI to meet them, Eleanor pulled herself into an expensive-looking contraption with giant wheels.
“This stroller is awesome,” Greg said.
“You could pull it behind a bike, right?” I asked.
“Yes, and when you jog with it, you can pull it behind you,” Greg said joyously. Please note that Greg doesn’t jog because of his bad knees, so this setup would be for my benefit.
“So I’d be like a horse?” I asked.
“No,” Greg said. “It’s more like a rickshaw.”
“Yeah, I don’t think I want to pull a rickshaw,” I said. “I prefer to push a stroller.”
Greg’s face fell, but then a little sparkle popped into his eyes. He tried a new angle.
“You can also use it for skiing,” he said.
“Skiing?!” I said.
“You’ve always wanted to try cross-country skiing,” he said.
“Yes, so I guess I’ll use it when Austin gets many, many inches of snow this winter,” I said. “And I think cross-country skiing is going to be pretty hard even without pulling that thing behind me.”
Dejected, Greg agreed to leave behind the stroller/rickshaw/snowmobile. He brought it up again when we got home.
“Cross-country skiing is a dream of yours,” he insisted.
“How much does that thing cost?” I asked.
“You’re asking the wrong questions,” he said.
Maybe keep it in mind for Christmas, Greg. Or better yet, Valentine’s Day. Nothing says “I love you” like a rickshaw.