Dave actually told me a story a few months back about how every Christmas, as a little boy, each minute of his day was totally absorbed with the hope and faith that maybe this year was the year Santa would bring him a dirt bike. He would go out of his way to be a good little boy – wash the dishes, put his toys away, help old ladies across the street, etc. And as he lay in bed each night the excitement and hope of a dirt bike under the tree would overwhelm him to the point that it would take him hours to fall asleep. Sadly his Christmas wish never came true; Santa never did bring little Dave a dirt bike even though it was the only thing on his wish list for many, many years. I swear I saw a lone tear fall down his cheek as he concluded this story.
This man is killing me.
Why do Dave’s demands always have to be so life changing (dog) and/or life threatening (dirt bike)? And why do they have to be SO expensive? Why can’t my husband really, really want a new pair of pants? Or, maybe a fancy electric tooth brush? I would be more than happy to let Dave buy ANY electric tooth brush out there (within reason of course).
Well, Jared & Christina (our Harley owning friends) had us over to dinner a few Sundays ago. What started out as an innocent dinner quickly escalated into a high pressure sales pitch from my dear husband. I’m pretty sure Dave orchestrated the dinner invite just to get me within arms length of the Harley. Harleys, I now realize, have a certain power. The closer you are to a Harley the more influence it has over you. As you approach a Harley you find yourself fighting an overwhelming urge to stroke the bike. And if you actually sit down on one, the battle is won. Your will is now its command.
After dinner I found myself being encouraged to take a ride with our friend. I’m not going to lie. I really didn’t want to. There were a lot of thoughts going through my head – most of them involved death, limb loss, and/or dismemberment. But finally I conceded to a short, slow, ride around the block.
You would have thought I was going to battle based on the demands I put on my friend Christina:
- "Can I borrow some sweats? I don’t want my skirt flying all over the place"
- "I tend to get really cold. Can I also borrow a sweatshirt? Just incase it rains…or snows...you never know."
- "Um…now that I think about it flip flops can’t be a good idea. What if some huge piece of asphalt gets kicked up by a car and severs one of my toes? Can I borrow some shoes…actually make that boots, and some socks?"
- "I’m also somewhat attached to my eyes, any chance you have some goggles I could borrow? Yea...I guess sunglasses will work."
- "I’m definitely going to need to borrow a helmet. Is this helmet pretty strong? Does it have a good crash rating?"
After TOTALLY disrobing and putting on everything in Christina’s closet, I got on the Harley with Jared. Here we are:
I look happy, but trust me I wasn’t. I was terrified. And even at 28 years old all I could think was “My mom is going to kill me.”
But then, the power of the Harley started to work its magic over me. In less than 10 seconds my fear was totally gone and I heard myself saying things like:
“Let’s take this hog on the freeway!”
“Can't you go any faster?”
“I don’t suppose you're going to let me drive this are you?”
“How much do these bikes sell for again?”
As we got in the car to head home, Dave looked at me expectantly and said “so what did you think?” I paused for a minute and said “I really liked it.” A few more seconds passed and he asked “So...do you think you want to get one?”
But at that point we were already a couple miles from the Harley and its power over me had begun to weaken considerably.
Better luck next time Dave.