(I didn't correct her...Aprilia is a mouthful). "Yes. May I see her?"
She directed me to a garage not far away. I could see her green fender from across the lot and hesitantly proceeded. Seated in a lawn chair, a dusty man smoked his cigarette and humored my need to say "goodbye." I'm probably not the first gal with an attachment to (and a name for) her ride.

When I was presented the opportunity to buy her, I was wholly single and had the means (by miraculous happenstance) to purchase her. There was no one whispering in my ear how senseless a scooter would be to a mother of three. I'd lived so many years concerned with the financial uncertainties of Mr. X's career and worries about keeping food on the table that I rarely indulged in extravagances (the exception being kitchen equipment...All Clad makes me weak in the knees). I did the numbers. I checked with the insurance company. I bought her. And she became a symbol of my freedom.
She was my favorite study break. She took me to stretches of road that I'd not before driven. She made me feel like a million bucks. Sure, she was there when I found myself face-first in a pile of muddy leaves -- and she tried to leave me stranded once or twice. Plus she was a garage hog. But I could overlook all of those shortcomings. She was fast, sexy and sassy.
Now that I've experienced first-hand how dangerous life on a bike can be (and am completely cognizant of how very, very lucky I am that it wasn't worse), I won't buy another. At least not for awhile...
...because I have another favorite study break who takes me places I've not before experienced and he makes me feel like a million bucks too. After nearly a year, he's yet to leave me stranded at Whole Foods and has resisted the urge to toss me face-first into a pile of muddy leaves.
And while I can't fill his tank on less than $3.00 a week, spending time with Mark doesn't require a helmet or liability insurance.
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