…So now I’m finally at the helm, did I mention she tends to be a bit of helm hog, and it becomes immediately obvious that the sailing conditions are going to be a bit more tricky than I had anticipated. Now I hesitate to go further here because I do not want to lend any credence to Honey Bunny’s propaganda campaign to smear my good name. I’m sure you’ll understand and I will try to explain the events as they occurred. I swear on the locker of Davey Jones.
Now in your minds eye I want you to picture the courageous Capt. Puffy Pants at the helm of his Capri, there is a full on hurricane ripping up the lake. Waves are crashing over the bow, small birds and animals are flitting by as if shot from canons. The spray is stinging our faces so that we have to squint and appear to be doing a Clint Eastwood meets the Gordon Fisherman impression. And somehow, through what can only be described as complete mastery of the sea, I manage to sail our doomed vessel approximately three feet. When all of a sudden, the Capri does a complete 360 degree spin on its centerboard axis. Well, I told my now completely deranged, but still loved Honey Bunny. Now keep in mind that I told her this to sooth her tattered nerves and to reassure her that I was in complete control of the situation. I said “What the hell was that?” She was not soothed.
So we come out of the spin, with again, my complete mastery of the sea, and sail on for maybe another boat length. Then it happens. The mother of all gusts hits our beam! With lightning, cat-like ninja reflexes I leap into full battle mode. Like any professional captain with a solid two weeks of sailing under their belt, I quickly and forcefully and with out any hesitation whatsoever, jammed the tiller over to head the boat up into the wind! Unfortunately, I was momentarily confused by my wife’s previous poor behavior and jammed it the wrong way. To make things worse “somehow” the main sheet had “become” cleated. Anyway, with out warning and certainly with no fault of my own, regardless what some people are propagating, over our sailboat goes and splash, go we.
Like any good skipper I call out, “What the bleep, I’ve seen my grandma react quicker than you! Next time hike out more for bleeps sake!” See, more calm and patience in action. So with herculean effort, I, Capt. Puffy Pants, with absolutely no help from my Honey Bunny, manage to get the bow pointed into the wind and dog paddle around the side, crawl up on the centerboard like a drowned rat and after only half a dozen or so attempts, get our Capri back on her feet. Meanwhile, my wife is on summer holiday, bobbing around in her life jacket, chatting up the spectators and polishing her lies and alibis for the investigation. SHE DIDN’T EVEN GET HER HAIR WET! The defense rests, your honor.
This is my story and I’m sticking to it!
Truthfully yours,
Capt. Puffy Pants
Trackbacks/Pingbacks