Now, my friends, the time has come to decribe this Mr. Murry. Mr. Murry is very tall and thin, and like most old men, his head is almost bald, except for a few thin gray hairs. Mr. Murry wears some old specticles that took up most of his face. And he had thin lips that cracked easily when too dry. If you tried to kiss him (but only Mrs. Murry and his children and grandchildren know what this is like) you would feel his prikly beard. (See, it grows back farily quickly)
Mr. Murry can never say no to a good bikeride, for his doctor told him he was a little insane and must be kept away from driving cars. So Mrs. Murry, with gritted teeth, went out to buy a bike. When coming home, she told him that he'd better ride it, showed him the price, and Mr. Murry imedietly hoped on the bike.
"I don't like that bike." Mrs. Murry would say, "It's much more dangerous than a car! For goodness sake, it's got two weels!"
"Oh Anne, not to worry. With this wonderful bike, we don't have to worry about gas prices, isn't that right?"
"I guess so... But we can't get anywhere with just that thing!" Mrs. Murry didn't get her drivers lisens when she was a child, so she could never drive. And she wasn't keen on learning.
"And think of all the money we made on the car! We didn't need it anyways. It was old, it was almost broken, and I hated it anyways. Now I can finally feel the wind flow throw my hair-"
"Oh you know what I mean!"
These sort of conversations always made the Murrys' laugh.