As anyone who has been married as long as I have, or longer, knows, at some point you kinda don't pay attention to all the nutty things your spouse says. Like my mother used to say - in one ear and out the other. Especially since my husband is recommending that I get a motorcycle.
Okay, please. I'm on the wrong side of 52, overweight, and not very agile (read previous posts about my attempts to exercise). So the thought of me being on a motorcycle is kinda ludicrous, to say the least. I mean, how long would I last?
Which reminds me of the year 1984. That was the summer the Olympics came to town. Everyone was all excited, and filled with thoughts of how the city would be mired down in one big traffic jam. I once worked for Peterson Publishing Company as a writer for Four Wheel and Off-Road Magazine (didn't even own a car then), so I called one of the other magazines in the stable, Motorcyclist, for a tip on a good motorcycle for myself, figuring it would zip me through traffic.
The editor, no friend of mine, told me frankly after hearing about my lack of motorcycle experience: "Lady, you're gonna die out there." Good enough for me. Haven't given motorcycles another thought since. Until now. And only fleetingly.
After 20 years of marriage, my husband is either trying to get rid of me or is using me as an excuse to get a motorcycle for himself. How charming!