My missus has that special cutting wit that kills most of my aspirations of ever being a cool dude stone dead. One of her classic comments even managed to prevent me buying a fancy red Ducati...or any sports bike...like forever.
I booked a test ride on said fancy red Ducati some years ago, rode down to the bike emporium on the Harley with the missus and excitedly watched the sales dude wheeling it out. The second I swung my leg over it, she leaned in close and whispered in my ear something rude about a monkey and a rugby ball...
I just told the sales dude to wheel it right back into the shop without even starting it up. I mean...could you even think about riding around on a fancy red Ducati with that image planted in your head?