Now let's just state for the record, that Hubby is a saint. He's even named after one. In the course of our 24 or so years together, he has put up with A LOT of crazy, including the absolute worst of the Torchwood stuff, and more importantly my food/fat/exercise/body-image/denial/self-l
This is my bike! It's a Public Bike, which is a "city bike" style. As you can see it's a "girls' bike. I love this bike. I'm not going to give you the crap about loving to ride it because I will never BS you enough to say I "love" any exercise. Exercise is exercise the way work is work. I do it because I have to. BUT to the extent that I can love riding a bicycle, I love riding THIS bicycle. I don't have to get a leg over it, BECAUSE it's a girl's bike. I also love that it has a only 7 gears and one of them is a granny gear. I can slog up hills at my own pace.
The gear box is covered and there's no chance of clothing getting chewed up in the derailleur.
Hubby got me my Public Bike, or at least convinced me that it was worth my getting one. (I was kind of convinced by riding a Boris Bike in London. Same general model.) As a result of this, he takes a certain amount of credit for the current weight lost/fitness success. I do ride the bike to work every day, even when I also go to the gym. On alternate days I try to ride at least 10 miles and I've gotten up to the 30 on a weekend ride with at least a A Half Century as a possible goal.
Hubby IS a bike guy. He was a bike messenger, both in NY and San Francisco in the 70's and 80's. Although he was a motorcycle guy for many years, he has reverted to bicycle guy, following the two broken legs from motorcycle accidents. He also became a "Fixie Guy!"
My Public Bike was hubby's 3rd or 4th attempt to convert me to the way of the bike and the previous ones were failures, because even when I rode the bike I hated it with every fiber of my being and hated him for putting me on it. They were NOT girl bikes and I HATE having to get my leg over a fucking bar to get on my bike and having gears that ground up my pants and the whole "massive gear" changing apparatus. HATE HATE HATE. And you know what I really like doing on my bike, sometimes? COASTING. After slogging up a hill, I can coast down, grabbing my brakes for dear life like I'm heading down Mount Haleakala.
Somewhere along the line, Hubby got a bug up his butt that I should get a fixie because I would get fitter faster because you can't coast on a fixie. You know what else? They don't make fixies in "girl" style.
I DON'T WANT A FIXIE! I tried to explain this reasonably and he was not hearing me, or he was pretending to and still pushing, not realing he was on VERY THIN ICE and this is where he thought he was giving advice and he really wanted me take his shit. Basically his dream is to remake me in his biker image. TRYING to be reasonable, I agreed to try one, after reiterating both the girl-bike and the coasting issues again.
The place he had in mind did not have a fixie in a size that my short-people self could adequately ride. They said they'd have one next week, I said fine we'll come back then, and my wonderful, loving STUPID SON OF A BITCH HUSBAND still wouldn't shut up and said well maybe I'll go online and get you a "Mixed frame fixie," and that's when I had to use my "K-gal getting pissed" voice and tell him to BACK OFF and not to do any such thing.
It blew over pretty quickly and I hope he got the message.
This is a microcosm of what we all face every day in this process. Because anyone who believes they have THE ANSWER not only wants to share it, but wants to make sure you follow the same path.
Nod politely. After that, get as tough or bitchy or strident as the relationship/social setting allows. And if necessary, take it to your blog and offer up the very hearty fuck you that is so richly deserved.