The Sisterwife

My darling husband has this motorcycle. Well, technically he has three motorcycles, but I will forget that just for today.

Where was I? Oh yes the motorcycle. Scotland has spent many hours fixing up this particular project bike, and it only became drive-able about two weeks ago.

Needless to say he has been on it every blessed second of every blessed day. I call it the sisterwife.

"Are you going to take the sisterwife to the store today honey?"

"Are you buying more presents for the sisterwife?"

And I suppose when I am in a slightly more sassy mood, my comments include the sisterwife and various references to "riding" but I don't think we need to explore that here...

Anyhow, last weekend he insisted on bringing her along, and since I obviously have no say in the matter, along she came. And since she doesn't have a headlight, he had to take her up to the campsite extra early on Friday night to beat the approaching nightfall. Minor detail, headlights...

I think they just wanted some time alone, but whatever.

The fam picked me up and headed to the campsite a little later, and when we got there, Scotland got busy telling Dad, Mo and Pants all about the bike and by the next morning, they were just itching to take a ride on her. They cruised up and down the highway by our campsite at unbearable speeds. I was content to play with the baby kittens Judge Kari* brought.

Cute, huh?

Anyhow, eventually we went boating and had a grand time out on Palisades Reservoir whilst dodging the occasional water soaked driftwood. Then, on Sunday we had to take Mo to the Cheese Factory (where he works three days a week) in Star Valley and drop him off there.

But guess what the most amazing part was?

I rode on the back of the sisterwife the whole way there. Hello! Never been on that bike before. Have only spent like .2 seconds on motorcycle with Scotland before! Major accomplishment!

(Although, is it still considered an accomplishment if the only thing you managed to do was hold on and make your knees stop shaking 30 minutes after you get off the dadgumed thing? Accomplish might be a stretch there...)

(And who says dadgumed anyway? Sheesh, not on this blog, NoSirEEEE.)

*****

As a side note, the name Judge Kari comes from a conversation about how my anti-child sister hates being called Aunt Kari by all of Pants's nieces and nephews. So I told her when I have children they can call her The Honorable Judge Kari. But we shortened it for my sake. Really, when do you think I am going to have time to teach a two year old how to say "Honorable"??? He is going to have a hard enough time recognizing that his name also refers to a delicious graham snack!!! Cracker can just refer to her as Judge Kari for all I care!


Over and OUT!