Yesterday my girlfriend notices this extraordinary unshakable fact. I have not a clean pair of trousers. Every single one of them is full of old resisting chain sludge (grease). Even my expensive black "job interviews and merriages" pants are full of the bicycle stamp. I feel like a warrior whose armor has blood stains all over and his clothes are brown-coloured from his unhealed wounds inflicted by swords, axes and spears in epic battles. My steel horse is my ally and friend. We, together shall proceed notwithstanding of inclement weather or enemy's vicious will. My future shall be conquered with will and courage and bravery and not easy passings but hard and torturous trails.
Ok, my poetic rant shall come to a halt. I only wanted to say that I'm a proud greased pants owner.