A couple years ago when I still was juggling 3 cars in the big 1-car garage in my little townhouse, I floated the idea of a motorcycle to my wife since it would fit in the corner of the garage. She was basically like, “motorcycles are dangerous, I’d worry about you too much!” But I may have just wormed my way around that.

Last night, my wife and I took my mother-in-law out to dinner for Mother’s Day. Yes, the night before Mother’s Day. We happened to drive past a biker bar, and I made some random wisecrack about surly bikers trying to look tough. My mother-in-law asked if I had ever ridden a motorcycle. I joked, “my wife won’t let me.”

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My wife of course didn’t like me saying this, and also didn’t remember the conversation about the motorcycle. Or so she claimed. I reminded her of the exact brunch at the exact restaurant we had this conversation, right down to the fact that I was eating corned beef hash at the time.

She still couldn’t remember the conversation, supposedly, but also said she would never want to stop me from having something I truly enjoy. But then she had to go all realistic talking about all the practical things we need to do first.

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So... I’m getting a motorcycle! All I have to do is open a successful restaurant, buy a house, and adopt a kid. Then it’s all mine!