Because my parents haven’t had a heart attack yet, I decided to marry someone who rides a motorcycle. For those of you that don’t know, The Cheerleader I’m Married To is 6′ 3″, tattooed, pierced, bearded, and (was) sporting a mohawk. He truly does look like every parent’s worst nightmare. But he’s really, really nice, I swear! He hasn’t been in prison (yet), and he doesn’t kill puppies or slash tires, or anything like that. He just kind of looks like he could. I mean, I wouldn’t marry a puppy killer. That would be terrible! Imagine the laundry!

But back to the motorcycle.

The Cheerleader I’m Married To is a very confident, conscientious rider, and when I’m on the back of the bike he calls me his “precious cargo”. This has led me to trust him completely (even though I did tense up that one time when we rode between two semi trucks who both wanted to change into our lane, and didn’t see us there), and I truly do love going for rides with him. I feel all badass on the bike, like I’m fresh out of prison and on my way to a truck stop to eat waffles, so don’t try to stop me motherfucker! However, my sparkly pink motorcycle jacket and adorable pink helmet disintegrate that bravado fairly effectively. I’m sure as we ride by, people look at us and say, ‘hey, look at that badass motorcycle rider with the flaming skulls on his helmet, and the fluffy girly-girl hanging onto him’. Whatever. I’m on a motorcycle!

I kind of delight in looking at people when we pull up to a stop light, especially guys in minivans. However, I do hate that look of longing in that guy’s eyes as he stares at the bike while his four sticky, bouncy children throw half-eaten cheeseburgers at the back of his head. I’m sure he’s going to go home and rip that stupid stick figure family off the back window, because he didn’t want it anyway, it was his wife’s idea, and even though he said ‘no’, she didn’t listen, and everyone at hockey practice laughs at him in the locker room, and sometimes he cries himself to sleep at night, and really wishes he didn’t have to sell his great-uncle’s vintage Indian motorcycle to pay for the twins’ car seats, and why, god, why does he now think that socks and sandals look good, and dammit his hair wasn’t this thin this time last year!

But back to the motorcycle.

Sometimes, in my car, on my commute to work, I see a motorcycle go by and I look at it and smile at the rider. He’s probably thinking, ‘that loser lady wishes SHE had a bike!’, and that makes me want to roll down my window and yell, “My husband has a bike, and I sit on the back and I have a pink jacket!” …but by that time, he’s long gone. Probably on his way to a truck stop to eat waffles.

Anyway, this made me tell The Cheerleader I’m Married To that I wanted to get a sticker of a motorcycle and put it on the Mini Cooper, so that people on bikes don’t think I’m a total loser when I stare at them as they ride by. I’m hoping they’ll look at the sticker and think, ‘My, I’ll bet that lady has a motorcycle just like I do! I’ll make sure to give her a subtle nod and/or a low wave as I drive by. If she’s got a sticker like that, she MUST be cool!’ The Cheerleader I’m Married To thought the sticker was a good idea, but he took it a step further and said, “why don’t we just get a bumper sticker that says ‘My other wife is a motorcycle’?”

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why I married him.

I am now Googling ‘How To Make Your Own Bumperstickers’, because that right there is a money maker. I mean, who wouldn’t want one of those on their clunky ol’ Volvo?! That way, when The Cheerleader I’m Married To and I ride by that guy in his Meatloaf-blaring Volvo, we’ll make sure to wave and nod, because dammit, that guy is probably pretty cool, too.

Happy Tuesday!