Phile

Out on a lovely jog. The route runs north-south, through several neighborhoods. I passed golfers, dogwalkers, kids coming home from school, fishermen, older men at bus stops, and middle-aged ladies riding bikes. Since I stopped wearing headphones while I run outside, I've enjoyed absorbing the environment through which I pass. Today, two teenagers on bikes were riding towards me. One was a boy, the other a girl. The boy was making the girl laugh, saying funny things I assume, as they meandered down the road. They looked so picturesque, in a modern-day kind of way. They also looked so happy. They love those bikes, riding them together.

As they passed, the boy, mid-sentence (the beginning and end of which I did not hear), sang in a Billie Holiday voice, " . . . pedophiiiiiiles . . ."

It made me smile. It seemed so appropriate. It was only several shuffling steps later that I realized he probably wasn't singing his love for his bike, he wasn't saying "Pedal-philes," which is what I had heard-assumed.
Ha. Ummmm. Kids these days.

Which, to me, actually does seem appropriate. I want to start just singing whatever I am loving at the moment. "Sunshine-phiiiiiile!"