Most of you should know about MK’s forced vacation by now, if you don’t, well, you’ll have to ask somebody. We’ve hit that super loving spot of needing to spend some serious time apart. So, in the height of his awesomeness, MK finally got started on his new hobby, and spent the weekend with an instructor learning how to sail a boat. I, to be sure, was all for this new hobby in concept. We can charter a boat without a crew, even buy one without me worrying who’s going to work it.
I’m envisioning all these fantastic moments:
Then, however, I flip through some of his manuals. MK informs me, when he cranks it to top speed or whatever, he could fall off the boat and I will have to know how to sail back and get him. (Or some other silly scenario that makes me have to work). Gone is my bikini and mimosa, suddenly I’m all geared up.
MK had me all set to suggest we buy a giant catamaran and live on it for years to come, but that was when the only schooling I was going to have to do was to read about provisioning (easy: spaghetti every night). That was when I was entertainer, lounge model, person in charge of relaxation. Now, we go shopping and he’s suggesting deck hands gloves and adventure pants. Usually with any new hobby we attempt, it’s the shopping for a whole ‘hobby specific’ wardrobe that gets me excited. Boating gear is not as alluring as I had imagined.