The other day the Spouse Thingy and I were out for a short ride and stopped at a new McDs attached to a new gas station, because it was 99 cent McNugget Day, and who can pass up cheap, greasy, cheap chunks of overcooked processed poultry? OK, it could have easily been 99 cent Big Mac Day or 99 cent Happy Meal Day...we'd been riding and we were hungry, and it was there.

Convenience rules.

When we came out, there was a white van parked next to our bikes, and as we approached the driver jumped out to ask questions about my little Rebel; he seemed incredibly excited, it was apparently the perfect bike for the Harley owner to step down to from his Sportster (which was in the shop for the 3rd time in a many weeks...) He was so taken with it, I did as I've done with other excited people: I let him sit on it.

I thought nothing of this--other than I must have a pretty cool ride--until I talked to Murf.

Murf: Guys don't do that.
Me: Sit on each others' bikes?
Murf: Best way I've hear it put is that asking a guy to ride his bike is like asking him to ride his wife. It just isn't done.
Me: I don't have a wife. And besides, all he did was sit on it.
Murf: You don't ask a guy to sit on his wife, either.
Me: But if he offered to let you sit on her...?
Murf: [quiet for a long time] What part would I be sitting on?


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