Weighed in the balance and found wanting

One of the joys of old age is watching your childrens' marriages spinning out into precarious potholes and seeing your DNA markers all over the mishap.

For example, a son, who shall remain nameless, went out and bought a Stella motorcycle with side car without telling his wife. It's a sweet little number.

Tom and I know exactly what forces would compel him to commit such hari kari to his relationship: it's spring; you want to feel the sun in your face and the wind in your hair. Sometimes you need to buy yourself an expensive gift. You get a great deal. Money is burning in your bank account pocket. It was so much cheaper than the mini-cooper you really wanted. You're moving, new work, new pressures. Anxiety. A boy's gotta have fun. It's Father's Day this weekend.

It's the kind of thing his parents would have done when they were his age.

The wife is mildly pissed. And who can blame her? There are a lot of other things one could buy with the money it takes to get a Stella with side car: a new feather sofa, several pairs of Manola Blahniks, a week at a spa, liposuction.

Obviously, my impulsive son cannot be thrilled and beating his chest to his wife, so he makes surreptitious calls to his father and the two of them celebrate the outrageous purchase together,

oohing and aahing at images on the Stella website and Tom recalling his own flings with motorcycles and scooters.

I don't condone the action. Entirely.

Will she ride in the side car?

Stay tuned.