Hubby wants a motorcycle. {long sigh}
I don't want hubby to get one. {another long sigh}
I am too young to be a widow, don't want to see hubby on the evening news, and just plain don't like them. This has nothing to do with an experience I had early in our courtship. Atleast I don't *think* it does.
Hubby had just gotten a motorcycle. He was 21. Loved the power. He talked me into getting on the back and going for a ride. I protested. Then gave in. Once on, he proceeded to rev the engine, and then did a wheelie. I have never forgiven him for that. He rode that bike about as fast and reckless as it gets. I was glad when, after owning it for a few months, it turned up missing. It had been stolen from our apartment. A week later it was found wrecked in the woods a half mile from the apartment. I thanked God endlessly for getting rid of that bike.
Now, some 17 years later, the same old argument is revisited. My protests don't fool hubby. He knows I will not protest too loudly because I love him and want him happy. I have never told him no. But in my heart of hearts, I will watch the clock and wait more impatiently for him to return that I do our 16 year old who has had his license for only 3 months. Perhapes he's right. Perhapes he won't wind it out and do 80 miles an hour down a country road. Or find a slick spot and lay it down going around a curve. Or split the passenger side of a SUV door because the driver couldn't see the bike. Perhapes he *really* does want to just get out and feel the wind in his hair and relax. Perhapes his connection with nature includes a bike. I want to believe him.
Maybe by the time he finds a bike he likes, I won't be so uneasy about it. Maybe I can find my own hobby to take my mind off of his. Skydiving. Bungie-jumping. A day with Steve Irwin wrestling crocks. {shrug}
