Post-nup says the motorcycle is a no-no

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by: Robert Kirby
(Originally published in the The Salt Lake Tribune. Reprinted with permission).

Robert Kirby I am not getting divorced. I wasn’t 100 percent sure until yesterday. Prior to that, the closest I dared get to the house was a block.

All I said to my wife was, “I am going to buy a motorcycle.” We were in bed with the lights out when I said it. This actually worked to my advantage because her long-standing argument against me having a motorcycle is that I have the natural reflexes of paint.

But I sensed something there in the dark. I rolled to the right just as it struck the pillow where my head had been. It was her way of reminding me that we have a contract.

It’s actually more of a post-nuptial agreement. Shortly after we got married, some friends and I did something that landed me in the emergency room. My wife had to leave work to bring over some insurance papers.

Thirty stitches, five hours and a spectacular fight later we entered into an agreement whereby we each conceded certain behaviors in order for our marriage to continue. I have a copy right here.

My wife’s requirements take up most of the page. I won’t bore you with the details except to say that she missed her calling as a loan shark.

Among her demands are no more blowing up stuff, testing reloads in the house, jumping out of airplanes, pet snakes, drinking chip dip with a straw, road trips longer than four days, crossbows, spear guns, and – absolutely no motorcycles.

My entire list of demands reads, “Hunka-Hunka Burning Love.”

It seemed a fair bargain at the time. But then I was young and believed testosterone was an inexhaustible resource. And there’s my signature at the bottom of the page.

I love my wife and want her to be happy. I’m also smart enough to know that a big reason I have a marriage, a home, grandkids and all my arms and legs today is because of our post-nup agreement.

But last week I was with some friends who stopped at Timpanogos Harley Davidson in Lindon. While they were doing whatever, I threw my leg over a 2008 Nightster 1200N. I haven’t had a motorcycle since a 1971 accident on Wasatch Boulevard so spectacular that I still have leftover Sky Miles. Everything came back in a rush – the open road, freedom and the feeling of power under me.

Back home, I explained to my wife that I was still too young to be old. My head needed to go 90 mph again before I was ready for a walker. Ever the practical one, she said she could make my head do that with a baseball bat and save us $12,000.

“You’re expensive enough alive,” she said. “We can’t afford you dead. And I still like waking up next to you.”

Cool. If that isn’t hunka-hunka burning love, I don’t know what is.

Article Source: The Salt Lake Tribune – Salt Lake City, Utah
Email the author: Robert Kirby

6 comments:

  1. John Williams, 17. July 2008, 7:41

    Lol –

  2. Jason D, 17. July 2008, 11:32

    Robert,
    Too bad you’re not able to get a bike. It sounds like riding is in your blood.

  3. Maryanne Russo, 17. July 2008, 13:23

    That was funny – I like the “baseball bat” part…

  4. John, 22. July 2008, 12:51

    Lets see…motorcycle or divorce…which is cheaper? I went through the divorce then a new H-D! Living life at it’s fullest! :)

  5. Bub, 23. July 2008, 19:01

    John – In many cases the Harley is definately the better choice!
    lol :-)

  6. Nathan, 8. August 2008, 14:23

    In the US we call that pu##y whipped. If it’s your passion and dream no one has the right to tell you not to do it. The only dreams we regret are the ones never fulfilled.

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