Today Bill and Margaret met me downtown so I could have a decent healthy lunch instead of the handfuls of rice crackers that have been passing for my meals of late.
I wheeled my bike on to Main Street, careening around pedestrians and skidded to a stop in front of the table where Bill and Mar sat.
There was a motorcycle helmet on the table.
Why did you bring a helmet to lunch? I asked warily.
Mar chimed in, "Daddy says I have to wear a helmet to ride on the motorcycle."
And there is was, "the other woman," the bike, the Triumph, parked in a spot on the street.
Cue hyperventilation now.
My little girl on the back of a motorcycle? 'the hell?
But then I remembered that the reason I wanted Bill to have this bike was because of the memories I have of my dad taking me for rides on the back of it.
I started to breath more normally. Then I ate my lunch.
It was all good until they got ready to go. Margaret donned the helmet, but Bill did not.
"I told you, that you HAD to wear a helmet if you are going to ride the bike," I bitched.
Bill smiled. "I don't like you riding YOUR bike without a helmet."
But come on. It's different, right?
Yes. I'm sure I'm right on this one. Everyone who thinks my husband should be wearing a helmet, please raise your hands ...
See, that's all of you.
(OK, it was just me, but still ... )