People sometimes think Ellen and I are very different. Until they get to know us better...

Ellen: "Whyyy" (you have to imagine this word in a hybrid Queens/Upstate accent... close as I can get typing is "Wh-hoi-oi", said quickly) "is my body fat scale in the basement?"

Me, in a 'surprised-you-want-to-know-suspicious-you're-even-asking' tone: "I wanted to weigh the bikes. The food scale only went up to 5 pounds."

Ellen: "And?" (Ahy-yand?)

Me: "Yours was 24, mine was 19."

Ellen stood there and blinked twice. The second time was her trademark "lizard blink." You know, the one where her second set of eyelids close from right-to-left.

"That's not possible. You did it wrong. Mine's not supposed to weigh more than 22. The magazines, the website, and the book said so."

Me: "Yeah, I know, but sometimes the manufacturers lie a little bit."

Ellen: "How did you do it?"

Me: "I held the bike on the scale."

Ellen: "No you moron. You're supposed to weigh yourself, then weigh yourself holding the bike, then subtract the difference."

Me: "Yeah, well, it won't mean much. Besides, who really cares?"

Ellen: *blink* *BLINK* ... pause

Me: "Okayyy..." (trudges down stairs)

The women in the audience will be little surprised to know she was right. 17.6 and 22.1 respectively. Trust me, I don't feel that superior... what I gain in bike she more than makes up for in smaller rider size, lighter rider weight, and undifferentiated rage.

Now if we could just get Olivia's parachute trailer to drop below 15...