S.S. Minnow.

A wise, wise man once said the two happiest days in the life of a boat owner are the day he purchases a boat and the day he sells it. Clearly, he was referring to a sailboat. He should have expanded the saying to include the fact that the happiest day in a non-boat owners life is the day he or she declines a pleasure cruise on the aforementioned water craft.

I have an odd fascination with boats. I tease my friends about their lack of yachts upon which I can sun myself. I wear boat shoes. I own multiple belts from J. Crew, adorned with anchors. So whenever my uncle invited us to spend a day on the water on his boat, not only did I jump at the offer, but I bragged about it to my friends.

Now, I should have seen the warning signs long before the trip. Namely, the night before. Any evening when people start having beer chugging contests before they start eating dinner probably isnt going to end well. 

However, confident in my non-academic skills that I had developed in college, I quickly sprung out of bed the next morning, chugged a gatorade and was on my merry way to the dock. 

Things which I did not take into consideration: 

a. sailboats are hard work. They do not leave time for one to locate a breezy location, curl up, and pass out. 

b. I can barely walk and be a functioning human being on dry land, let alone on a boat. With ropes. Everywhere

c. It was going to be 100 degrees

d. The wind which made 100 degrees feel more like a balmy 92 degrees also made the water rough.

By these powers combined, the two or three hours we actually spent sailing were horrific. I was too prideful to let myself throw up, so instead, I would lurk away and nap for 20 minutes at a time in some forgotten about sail covers. That is, until I would be awoken by water coming over the edge (apparently this is standard procedure) or the sail's boom swooping down and almost hitting me in the head. It was the most adventurous nap I'd ever taken. Whenever I was awake, I'd consider  swimming to shore. Even drowning in the attempt would be a preferable outcome. 

We then decided to drop anchor for lunch and swimming in a shallow cove. Mind you, nature and I have a very distant relationship, in that we enjoy observing each other, from a distance. Even in the ocean, I don't like touching the bottom. Even when I can see my feet. However, the ungodly heat drove me into the water today. But I refused to touch the bottom. I spent the better part of an hour floating and awkwardly doggie paddling around everyone. 

That's when disaster struck. Sometime between lunch and frolicking around in the water, the tide went out. Leaving our boat more on the ground than in the water. So when we started the engine we went...no where. Desperate times called for desperate measures. A rope was thrown over the side and we followed suit. And proceeded to pull the boat. Off of the sandbar from hell. I touched the bottom. It was as disgusting as expected. I also managed to get stung by every jelly fish in approximately a five mile vicinity. You can't even tell though. It blends in well with my tomato colored sunburn I got. 

Needless to say, I will never buy a boat. Unless that boat is a yacht that comes with it's own staff. For now, I will limit my nautical enjoyment to my closet.