Of course she does. Doesn’t she? If a woman knows anything, then she knows how to shop.
I decided to do it in style. Buying a Harley-Davidson isn’t like going out to get some shoes and end up with some more shoes, a jumper, a coat, a sandwich toaster and a skirt. And maybe another skirt in a different colour.
A bike is a one and only job.
Only you….. and me!
So I went to the hairdressers (I needed an appointment anyway), I dressed in black and made my way to Rick’s., the Harley-Davidson dealer. Felt like a million pounds.
I could see a row of bikes though the window as I got out of my car. Temptation behind glass. Happiness was close and manifold.
Entering the massive showroom nearly took my breath away. But I tried to look as blasé as I could.
A guy came towards me. He didn’t look at all like someone who is selling a dream of freedom and power. More like someone who is selling insurance policies. Shouldn’t HD salesmen have tattoos all over their skin? Long hair? A dangerous demeanor about them? At least a beard?
What can I do for you? He asked clean shaven.
You can make me happy. I replied and added with a slightly cheeky smile: With a motorbike!
He grinned. Do you know what you want?
A Sportster 1200 forty-eight edition, black. I said as sharp and clear as possible. These were the magic words that would open up a new dimension for me. Like a matrix key or a spacecraft for another universe.
Coffee? He asked.
Yes! I grinned.
The deal was made. She was mine.