“But,” I argued, “do you really need all that chrome? I mean, without the chrome it’s really just a fair price, rather than a fantastic steal, right?”He maintained it was a fantastic price. I tried another tactic.
“But won’t all that chrome get hot? You know, like, in the desert sun?”
To which he said that the parts of the bike you chrome aren’t usually the parts you would be touching, so it doesn’t matter if they get hot.
The husband’s next move when he wants to convince me to let him buy something is to enlist help. (This is how we ended up with a 2001 Mustang Bullitt with a V8 engine and special tailpipe noises, instead of, say, a Honda Accord. So there is a precedent for the success of this tactic.) He finds every friend, co-worker, and acquaintance within a 500 mile radius and brings them over to his side.
I was ambushed when I walked in to the office this morning.
“So,” one of my co-workers said to me, “you going to let Chris get a bike?” I rolled my eyes. “You should get it now, before you have kids and stuff,” another one chimed in. “I mean, it’s highly frowned upon for pregnant ladies to ride motorcycles.”
“Well that doesn’t sound like a very sound investment,” I replied, “only a few years before we can’t ride the bike anymore then!”
“Oh I can still ride it,” my lovely husband jokes, “you just can’t.”
To which somehow the conversation transitioned into more jokes about installing a car seat to the back of the motorcycle* and how you would have to modify the “Baby on Board” sign.
“You could make a shirt” someone suggested, “it would say, ‘If you can read this, the baby fell off.’”
*No one should EVER attempt that in real life. It is only funny because it is absurd and hopefully would never happen in a million gazillion years. I’m pretty sure its illegal, too, not to mention child endangerment.
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