One day Big Daddy came home with this. He was working at a motorcycle shop and all his friends had one. It'll be fun, he said. You'll like it, he said. I've always wanted one, he said.
Yay, I said weakly, throwing my hands about me in a bad jazz hands rendition.
You see, I hate the water. I am petrified of it. I don't like water that I can't touch the bottom in, so for me, that limits the deep end of the swimming pool, and I HATE water I can't see in. Fish die there. They poop there. It's like swimming in a fish toilet. You're in their house. Maybe they don't want you there that day. There are days I don't want people in my house. Maybe they're grumpy. Who know what's in the water? Have you seen the size of some of the fish people catch??? No lakes. No oceans. Unless I can see the bottom or I'm not in passed my waist. No, thank you.
I've hated the water for as long as I can remember. When I was in first grade, my mom's best friend had a swimming pool. She lived down the street from us, and we spent the summer splashing around in the shallow end. One day, someone decided to turn on the slide, and people started zooming down and splashing around in the deep end. I didn't know how to swim, and I was positive if I went down the slide I would drown.
Someone had the bright idea of putting me on the slide. I fought and fought, positive I was going to die. I was put on the slide anyway, and they pushed my tiny, little baby girl body down the slide. I held on to the edges of that fiberglass slide as though my life depended on it, because it did.
My hand were flayed open. And I still went into the water.
In fifth grade, the mom of one of my friends read my palm, and told me I would die in water and have one child. Thanks. Every 10 year old needs someone to feed their phobia.
In college, I had my palm read again, and again, I was told to avoid water.
So I do.
No oceans. No lakes. It's a rule.
My luck, I'll slip in the bathtub, break my neck and drown under the faucet, or I'll choke on my water in the middle of Red Lobster and that'll be it.
Big Daddy didn't really know all of this, though, because we aren't really "lake people". He wanted to hang with his friends at the lake and have fun, so....
Jet Ski. Yay.....
He took me to the store and I got fitted for a life jacket. Good plan, since I was GOING TO DIE.
I was not thrilled at the prospect of the lake, but at that point in our relationship, I was all about stuffing and not really letting him see what I liked and didn't like, because I wanted to please him in all things. Very 1950s housewife to the nth degree. Mistake number one.
Off we went to the lake; I met his coworkers and their wives and girlfriends. We ate. We relaxed. The boys rode jet skis while the girls gossiped.
Life was good.
Until the boys came back to shore and said, "Your turn!"
Several of the girls, giggled, dusted the sand from their butts, and bounced out into the water. I, on the other hand, looked at Big Daddy like he had lost his freakin' mind.
He just smiled and held out his hand, ready to show me how to ride the water demon. Apparently, though, ride wasn't the right word. You see, while the other guys had jet skis, you sat down on, this one you had to stand up on. Like this....
Looks fun, right?
No. It does not.
In order to get to your feet, you had to twist the throttle and drag yourself by your arms behind the jet ski so you resemble an orangutan riding motorcross.
According to Big Daddy's directions, you just let the jet ski drag your dead weight through the water, and then, like a ninja, you pop up to your knees on the jet ski, and ride that way for a while, and then pop up to your feet, when you hit top speed. When I asked how I would know how fast to do each of these steps, I was informed I would just know.
'K. Let me get this straight.
Me, the girl who can trip on flat surfaces and who is deathly afraid of water and who has the upper body strength of a three month old, is going to drag her body through the water, magically know when to ninja herself to her knees gracefully, and then in one swoop jump up like a jack in the box all while wearing a restrictive life jacket and careening across a lake.
Hell, yeah, I can do this. NOT.
Big Daddy showed me how to do it several times while I was still safe on shore. Then he took me out into the lake and started the jet ski. He floated along behind me, and we practiced several times.
After several times, my arms were exhausted. My ribs were bruised. My thighs were banged up. I had huge marks up and down my shins. I couldn't get the jet ski and my body to coordinate. Either I flooded the engine, or I couldn't get my body up when I was supposed to.
Big Daddy was getting frustrated, and I was getting flat out pissed. Resolutely, I decided to try one last time. Mistake number two.
Big Daddy, as he was floating along behind me, kept telling me, "Give it more gas. More gas!!! Don't be afraid of it." The jet ski was puttering us around the lake; and I punched the throttle.
Suddenly, I was going across the lake about a gazillion miles an hour, my body skipping like a stone across the surface of the water, Big Daddy flopping along behind me like a rag doll. In a flash, it was like a weight had been lifted, and the motor kicked into high.. I looked back in fear, hanging on for dear life, and Big Daddy was a tiny spec floating far, far away in huge circle of white foam. The force cutting through the water forced a huge wave behind the jet ski had slapped him with a wall of water straight to his mouth and nose, making him to let go in self-defense. I looked back in front of me. This wasn't quite how I planned it, but I was on my own. Step one accomplished, so I tried to ninja to my knees.
As I was bouncing along behind the out of control jet ski and attempting to drag myself up to kneeling at the same time, I saw a boat coming straight toward me. Or maybe I was going straight toward it. I don't really know, but I panicked and turned the jet ski hard to the side, successfully, drowning the motor, and stopping me from certain death. The boat zoomed by me, and the wake rocked me and the jet ski, pitifully.
I tried to start the motor, but it wouldn't work. I tried over and over. I was exhausted and way too far from the beach to swim. Big Daddy looked like he was about an 1/8 of inch tall. I could tell by all the movement, they were freaking out back on the beach.
Finally,a couple of people jumped onto a jet ski and decided to rescue me. Thankfully, it was a sit down jet ski, and thankfully Big Daddy was still back on the beach. He was livid.
We never went back to the lake with that jet ski. Big Daddy didn't learn though. He took me back to the lake one other time. On a catamaran, but that time, HE almost died.
But that's a blog post for another day.
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