And THAT is why

I am not a good biker wife.

Good lord, that perching on the back is uncomfortable. North Texas was very pretty, but I feel like I've been scrunched in a laundry basket for the last six hours.

I also find the sportbike thing pretty much terrifying. It requires every bit of trust I have in my husband's ability for me to not have him pull over so I can walk home. Too fast, too curvy, too scary for me.

But, because he is more or less a saint, the Mister did not seize the opportunity to launch off the back of the bike and speed away.