A few years ago, before we got married, Roger broke up with Adelaide. She'd loyally served to seductively scratch an itch I never could, but he finally realized that it was me he loved and so he let her go. It was a long, drawn-out, tearful goodbye. He knew he'd miss her desperately but priorities were priorities and I was at the top of his list. I sheepishly admit now that I was thrilled at her departure--my competition neatly squashed by him without any prodding from me. But my motives weren't exactly what you'd think. I wasn't threatened by the thrill-seeking danger she doled out to him time and time again or even jealous of the time they spent together. In fact, they rarely saw each other once I entered the picture. Nope. Getting rid of Adelaide meant one thing: we'd be able to start a pre-nuptial nest egg, something we never could have done if that bitch had stuck around.
You see, Adelaide was a Honda Goldwing.
Fast forward to summer 2006 when Roger and I watched a show called, "Feasting on Asphalt," in which our favorite foodie, Alton Brown, cruises the country on a bike and samples America's road food (In case you missed it, it's terrific. Be sure to catch it when it's back in rerun rotation.). That show? Gave Roger the bug--The Bike Bug. The only cure? He's gotta ride.
This weekend Roger's renting a Harley and hitting the open road. Just a boy and his bike (well, it's his for the weekend anyway) and his love for roaming the unexplored Texas countryside.
Have fun, My Love. Be safe. And remember, whatever her name is, she's only a fling.