Not really, but I did take a week off. It’s okay now, I’m back. You’re alllllllllright. Rosie’s here. The regularly scheduled program will continue.
Drugs are bad, mmmkay? But Amy Winehouse is my bitch.
Jack’s family owns a boat and we’ve gone to The Lake many times with them starting waaay back in college. This particular trip stands out for one reason and one reason only: we stopped to help a family of boaters whose boat had run out of gas. Now, to be perfectly honest, Jack’s dad is not the most trusting of men – especially when those outside the fold are concerned. It is a trait we share. He was therefore reluctant to offer help, but couldn’t in good conscience let this poor drunk family stay stranded on the lake.
“Ahoy,” Jack’s dad hollered. “Looks like you need some help. We’ll radio the coast guard if you want.”
They declined because they were drunk, but not that drunk. Stupid, but not that stupid. They were actually just a little under a mile away from their docking point if maybe we could give them a tow. It wasn’t an unreasonable request so Jack’s dad obliged and threw them a rope to tie up with.
While the rope tying began we noticed that a woman and her boyfriend were in the water (without life-jackets) so Jack’s dad suggested they get in their boat before we left without them. Turns out climbing into a boat is a lot more difficult when you’re drunk.
“Lee-sa!” her mother snapped. “Lee-sa! Git in the boat! Git in the boat, Lee-sa!” Every once in a while we’d see Lisa’s dimpled leg appear over the side of their boat and then she’d lose her grip and it’d slide back into the lake. And again her mother would say, “Lee-sa! Lee-sa! Git in the boat!” We’d drifted a little by this time so that we could see her boyfriend was trying to help hoist drunk Lisa up and over, but her weight combined with his scrawniness and the Buds made his attempts futile. “We got one drownin’ over here,” the mother said, but she didn’t look particularly concerned. “Lee-sa! Git in the boat!”
Finally Lisa got in the boat and our journey to their docking point began. Because I share Jack’s dad’s untrusting nature he appointed me watchman. I was to watch and report all mysterious behaviors as we towed them. Jack was given the Bowie knife and told that if anything weird happened he was to cut the line between the boats. Jack and I nodded solemnly and took up our posts.
“What’s happening?” Jack’s dad yelled over the roar of our motor.
“Lee-sa and her boyfriend are making out,” I reported dutifully. “No, wait! Now they’re fighting! OoOOH!! She just smacked him – and he just smacked her back! Wait. They’re making out again!” And I didn’t make any of that up. And it happened pretty much in the amount of time it took you to read that paragraph. Theirs was an explosive relationship.
“I don’t care about that,” Jack’s dad snapped. “What about the others?”
“The mom just opened a beer!” I squinted. “And Lisa’s boyfriend – ohmygawd he just peed in their cooler!! He. Peed! In their cooler!!”
I’m not sure if Jack’s dad’s expression of disgust was over the act or the commentary.
“Annnd there goes the cooler. He just dumped the cooler of pee into the lake! Annnnd there goes one of their lifevests! Damn!”
“Stop polluting the lake!!!” I yelled, but I don’t think they heard me.
“Now they’re making out again,” I reported.
It was about then that Jack’s dad grew tired of towing the Clampets and he signalled for Jack to cut them loose. It’s not as harsh as it sounds. We’d nearly made it to their dock. Once they sobered up they could swim the minimal distance and tow their boat in. They smiled, lifted their beers in a salute and waved their thanks as we sped away.
“Lost my rope,” Jack’s dad complained.
“You didn’t have to cut it,” I said with a shrug. I am the only one, by the way, who can get by with speaking to him in that manner. “I’m sure in a few hours time they might have sobered up enough to untie it.”
Jack’s dad scowled out into the horizon much like Jack Palance would brood into the sunset. “I doubt it.”
Hump (or death) Day:
Dig out your inner Girl Next Door and answer me this:
Hump or death?