Okay, I think Dad has mentioned that he has a motorcycle. Mom and I call it Wally’s Folly. Why? Because it doesn’t work.
He took it out last evening, and wound up walking it home. Again. When he starts it up, the noise and stench is almost unbearable. Thank God it only starts up once in a while. It looks nice, but it should have been painted yellow, because it’s a real lemon.
Come over when Dad’s at work and make an offer. You’ll have to wheel it away, because it probably won’t start.
Maybe you can put it in your living room and make a lamp out of it or something.
My father has a Triumph Tiger. 1979. He recently mentioned in passing that TWO mechanics were working on it at the same time. I jokingly said “gee, Dad, it takes two mechanics to fix the Tiger?” He just sort of growled. “So Dad, how much money do you think you’ve put into that bike, total, in repair?” Without missing a beat, PapaRiddles says “I don’t want to talk about it. I REALLY don’t want to talk about it. A new bike costs $14,000. I REALLY REALLY don’t want to talk about it.”
Look on the bright side, Amy. Besides the Tiger, my father is also the proud father of TWO BMW motorcycles. We’re not rich. He’s just a motorcycle nut.
Amy, you won’t win any friends here by taking potshots at your Daddy. The only reason that you haven’t been flamed unmercifully by these people is because you’re a rank newbie and they’ve kindly decided to cut you some slack.
As for the bike, there are mechanical issues at work here that you do not understand. I’m addressing these situations as they crop up and have everything well in hand.
You and your mother may find amusement in mocking my difficulties with a tempermental old Harley, but be assured that I do not. Don’t try to sell my stuff!
Oh, and tell that klutz boyfriend of yours not to bother coming around this evening. You’re not going anywhere tonight.