Only a few years ago did we get a motorboat, the Waterproof named after our grandmother's home town.
That was our idea.
Our grandparents never got one, though it was spoken of, mostly by our grandfather. Our southern belle of a grandmother didn't want to shell out for one.
The dman things are a hell of a lot of trouble. As noted last week our gas cap fell off and we spent four days trying to fit a replacement. It was agony. A day after that the awning flew off. In 2016 we damn near killed out oldest when rafting.
We mean to place a placard by the steering wheel: Caution, this boat unlucky.
Last evening a storm was a commin' and we went down to the dock to make sure the Waterproof was secure. All seemed fine then we looked down the canal. A hundred yards away, down by the beaver damn which one can see from space, lay our raft.
That rowboat is as old as we are.
One day we'll send it off Viking style. But that day was not yesterday.
Pro-tip, always bring your own rope.
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