I don’t hate my husband’s motorcycle. I mean, it gets better mileage than his car, and it’s not like I didn’t know about it before we got married. So I try to maintain a cool, wary distance from it. You know, when I’m not giving it the side eye for taking up space in our garage. Or wondering if it truly is loud enough to make his presence known to oblivious drivers. Or refusing rides because it’s uncomfortable to sit on and helmets are hot. Truth be told, if you asked me what kind it was, my response would be, “A red one.” Shrug.
One day this month, I noticed its title sitting out on our kitchen table. I knew what that meant. After years of ownership, my husband was finally ready to part with his bike. Our neighbor made it clear on day one of our move that he would happily take it off our hands when
we my husband was ready. That was three long years ago. So I did what any other finance loving, clutter-hating person would do: I hid the title. Continue reading “Money, Marriage, and Motorcycles”