Twist the Throttle

I have a pale blue and white scooter. Her name is Jane.

I bought her after enduring years of circling Harvard Square looking for an open parking space. My Jane requires no such convention. After bypassing lines of traffic, I simply parked her on the sidewalk. No muss. No fuss.

She is the Betty Boop of scooters. All curves with a penchant for coloring outside the lines. Think Jayne Mansfield. Think Jane Russell. An intoxicating mix of fun and sass.

When I would ride her, I would often attract attention. Not me mind you, the scooter. Even the most grizzled motorcycle riders would sidle up to me at traffic lights, look over, and give me a quick wink of approval. 

Harley-Davidson, take that. 

"It takes 37 muscles to frown. 17 to smile. 7 to twist the throttle."