In reality, I’m more likely to be lost in the Bermuda Triangle like so many people used to be but don’t seem to be anymore.
I’m not afraid of boats or the water. Maybe I should be, but I have a reputation for being bull-headed and stubborn because I am…bull-headed and stubborn. I have reason to be afraid. Dating back as far as I can remember, I’ve had terrible luck with boats and lakes and oceans and water in general.
When I was around five years old, I had a run-in with paddle boats at Santa’s Land in Cherokee, NC. Paddle boats are great fun if you’re just hanging out in a pond. You drive the boat like riding a bike and it’s a good time and in boner pill commercials you see old people paddling around in ponds holding hands before they go have disgusting sex.
Rather than a lemon party breaking out, my paddle boat ride ended when I fell in the lake while trying to feed a monkey. That’s the great part of their paddle boat lake. They have animals, like monkeys, living on islands. So you paddle around and feed the animals. Or, if you’re me, you fall in the water and proceed to flip out when some stupid lady goes, “OH MY GOD THERE’S A SNAKE IN THE WATER!”
To summarize to this point, I’ve fallen into a nasty pond and I am freaking out because I’ve been told there is a snake in the water with me. I can’t climb back on to my own paddle boat, and there is a curious and potentially deadly monkey staring me down from his island home in the North Carolina mountains.
Thankfully, a nice man took a chance and hefted my husky behind from the brown water. I almost pulled him in the way the Royal Rumble went down with Sid Vicious and Hulk Hogan in 1992, but he kept himself on the boat and rescued me from having to wade 100 yards in chest-deep water.

Example #2, the pirate ship ride at Ghost Down. You know, the one that swings to and fro and looks like a pirate ship. You’ve definitely seen one here or there in your life. It’s a fun time. And it barely counts as a boat, but for the sake of my theme it definitely does.
At this point, I was probably 4-6. It seems like it was before my Santa’s Land trip, but it very well could have been the same one. We were at Ghost Town. I was in redneck heaven watching dudes dressed like cowboys shoot each other and pretend to be shot. I saw some proud Cherokee people sacrifice their dignity and do rain dances with fat pale face tourists. Like me! To top it all off, we rode the pirate ship! And my mother freaked out in a way that scarred me for a good portion of my childhood. Her blood-curdling screams of terror scared the hell out of me like few things ever scared a small child. It was like hearing someone get stabbed, but watching them have a good time on an amusement park ride. I wasn’t the same again till I went to Disney World with my grandma’s church group and rode the roller coasters with my cousin. My cousin turned out to be far more manly than my mother, who it turns out had no place on the pirate ship since she was terrified on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.

Example #3, Disney World! The trip with my grandma’s church group started out well. I was on a bus with a bunch of old people and a few other kids. Mainly old people. I have no idea why the old people wanted to go to Disney World but more importantly I did not care. This was my chance to visit the Magic Kingdom and I could never miss such a thing. Unfortunately, this was the continuation of my nautical numbskullery. I don’t know if they still have those cool little sprite boats, but they did when I was there as a kid! Mine broke down.
The ferry…it broke down, too.
The submarine ride where it seems like you really go under water but I’m not sure if you actually do…it broke down, too.

This all takes us up to more recent stories. This summer, I’ve been stranded on Lake Hartwell on a broken down boat, then caught in a monsoon later on the same day. I’ve fallen down the stairs on a house boat and compressed my spine like someone stepping on a Coke can. I lost my hat, sat on my glasses, cut my legs, stubbed my toes, and bruised myself in mysterious ways. It’s all part of a day on the lake if you’re me. It’s like the water unleashes my inner Jerry Lewis.

Other maritime mishaps also highlight my youth. Don’t worry. I can’t fit them all in fewer than 1000 words. There are simply too many, and I am simply too wordy.

When I was 2 or 3, I was going to some daycare here in Greenville. I have no idea which one, but I remember it was around the time I was wearing cowboy boots and fire suits as part of my daily attire. It wasn’t GrrAnimals. It was GrrAnderson. Bordering on GrrAntreville. Osh Kosh B’Homeland Park.
Anyway, one day we went to the YMCA to learn how to swim! I was 2 or 3. It’s one of my earliest memories. I don’t remember this part, but apparently my parents forgot we were going to take swimming lessons that day. Fast forward through breakfast and some play time and some dude I’ve never met before is throwing me into a YMCA pool in my tighty whities. Eventually I did learn to swim, but not that day. That day I didn’t learn much of anything, but remember you pay people to do this stuff to your kids.

Another time, I was probably 7 or 8 and our summer vacation found us in Myrtle Beach! I was there with my mom. My dad never went on our beach trips. He only went on our Pigeon Forge trips. We never went anywhere else. Myrtle Beach, Pigeon Forge, and that’s it.
So we were in Myrtle Beach! Exciting. Beachfront hotel! More exciting! One evening, I remember playing in the pool while my mom sat in a chair reading some stupid book probably written by John Grisham or Robin Cook. There was a couple in the hot tub and they were doing something I decided was sexual in nature. I had no idea what was going on, but I was taking mental notes all the same. I kept up the splashing and the playing so Moose never got suspicious. My attention, though, was on the drunk chick and why she was pretending her boyfriend was one of those Fry-Guy spring horses at a McDonalds playground. A few minutes later, two old women are on a second story balcony and they’re yelling at the people in the hot tub and pulling a good old-fashioned “WILL YOU THINK OF THE CHILDREN?” routine. The drunk people in the hot tub are angry because their fornication has been interrupted by old women. They were yelling, too. They said I didn’t know what was going on. The old women asked me if I knew what was going on so I answered and I told the truth. A few minutes later, hotel security showed up and the Myrtle Beach PD showed up and nobody went to jail but nobody really went home happy, either. Except me. I was glad I got to be in an untelevised episode of Cops.
Also, that Robin Cook must be one hell of a writer because I’m pretty sure Moose never put the book down during any of it.

With a history like that in the water, there’s a good chance no one will see me alive again on the mainland after Friday when I board the ship. The Poseidon Adventure could become The…uh, Posninedon Adventure. We could all be aboard the Carnival Nine-tanic. I don’t think even Mandarax can help me now!