In which I prove I will go anywhere with my husband because I’m totally fucking superior.

Saturday I went to Davenport with Mr. Brett to a motorcycle swap meet. He had money burning a hole in his pocket and wanted to, and I quote, “Buy something cool to drag home in the back of my truck.”

When I asked him what he was looking for, he didn’t have anything in mind. He just wanted to shop.

I was wearing my cool dress from Amy, and if you’ve ever been to a bike swap meet you know I wasn’t dressed appropriately. Biker bitches wear tight jeans and black tanks or bustiers, boots, braids, and they try to have all their ink hanging out so it can be seen. But I’d arrived in a pick-up and not on the back of a bike, so screw ’em.

We wandered around in the hot sun and I listened to my husband make sex noises like, “Ooh, baby, look at that!” and “Now that’s sexy,” as he looked at things made out of metal that were dripping oil.

At one point, he found a bike he liked so much he said, “I’d trade you for one of those!” and it took me a moment before I realized that what he’d said was actually a compliment.

After awhile I got overheated and since I still had cramps I dropped out and sat under a pavillion drinking lemonade and reading an Honorverse novel on my PPC. Brett came back and collected me eventually, and from there we wandered truck-ward and then drove home. He never did find anything to buy, and it turns out the board track races had been run the night before.
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