Biker Bitch

So, my mom bought a Harley. This worries me. Excessively.

#1- My mom (to the best of my knowledge) has not been on a motorcycle since her twenties. That makes her bad-ass bike babe days well over a quarter century ago. I know, I know, "you never forget how to ride a bike." However, something tells me that by "bike" the prophets meant banana seats and pedal brakes.

#2- My mom can't see. Since the Bone Marrow Transplant/mucho radiation, it has shot her eyesight. She has AT LEAST six hundred forty-eight thousand pairs of glasses, each one stronger than the next, and none keep her from squinting to see street signs. Which brings me to

#3- My mom is a terrible driver. She has this little XTerra. It's a sporty little rugged jeep like truck with giant knobby tires meant for offroading. (Because everyone in Suburbia needs a vehicle thats meant to navigate arctic tundra.) She blames the traffic. I blame the fact that she's always right. And people who are always right, always have the right of way. Or so they think. A blinker has yet to be invented that my mom couldn't ignore. Thank God for Oh Shit handles.

#4- Motocycles in general worry me. Not that I don't think that they're hot - they are. But truth be told, people are nuts on the road. And two tires with the gastank a mere 4 inches below your crotch doesn't hold the same safety appeal as a tank-like buick. Aside from that, I like the fact that should I, God forbid, get into an accident, a giant squishy air filled pillow will hit me in the face. Let's see asphault make the same offer.