Holy shit... Now I HAVE to learn how to ride. 

It was my 50th birthday. One of my kids ran up and handed me a card and screeched, "Open my card first!" There was about 10 or so friends staring awkwardly at me so I snatched the opportunity to deflect the uncomfortable stares. <rriiippp....> "Oh... a cat card!" <I hate cats...> I pull the tag so it would meow the Happy Birthday song when out falls a tiny key. A very small black and silver key. Of course, I can't see what it says on the key because my eyes are old and I've left my reading glasses in my purse. I look at Shawn who has tears in his eyes and an enormous smile guarding his uncontrollable chuckles. He grabbed my hand and led me to to a back room... where I see pink and black ribbons that laced around a brand new Harley-Davidson Iron 883. 

Hooo. Leee. Shit. <Look at the bike. Look at your man. Now back at the bike. Look back at your man.> 

"It' s for you!" 

I panic a little as I think, "Now I have to really have to learn how to ride." 

And that was it. That's how I started riding.