We Had Joy, We Had Fun, We Had Seas--Wait, She Dies At The End Of That Song

Well, I only nearly died. Big distinction there. As you probably know, the whole time The Cowboy was here, he did little else besides work. As in literal sunup to sundown backbreaking manual labor WORK. No play (unless you count petting kitty-cats, which I kind of think he does, but don't tell because that doesn't sound tough, but the way he does it, it totally is, even including the baby talk), just work work work. I would try to get him to take it easy, take a day off, and he would always say, "I have too much to do."  He did take a day to get that tattoo, but otherwise, it was darn-near slave labor. I fed him well, I kept his clothes clean (no small feat when someone is getting that dirty all the time), I brought him drinks, made him protein shakes and smoothies...I did what I could, but still, it seemed unfair, the amount of work the man did, and how little of it with which I was able to help, being about as strong as a bunny. He worked literally from the day he got here until the day he left.

Oh, and speaking of that tattoo, remember how proud I was of how the lines of my design flowed organically with the natural curves of The Cowboy's bicep?  Behold proof:

Mmmmm... what were we talking about, again? Oh, yeah. The constant working and no playing. Well, there were, I think, two short gaming breaks to speak of, but only on tattoo recovery day and one night after dark when no work could be done outside. He took over my computer with his seventeen-button mouse, so I couldn't play, but it was OK because I got to watch, and he was adorable. ADORABLE, I TELL YOU.

But back to the point. On the penultimate day of The Cowboy's visit, we managed to steal away for a few too-brief hours to Greers Ferry Lake and put a personal watercraft in the water. I opted for just taking out one instead of two, because I thought I would much prefer riding with The Cowboy. Because, you know, free to concentrate on constant hugging just hanging on and enjoying the ride, and not worrying about driving. I knew there would be cutting up, but over the years, my family has transitioned to less daring and more, um, stable forms of PWC. From Sea-Doos (FUN!) to Bombardiers (ONLY SLIGHTLY LESS FUN!) to Honda Aquatraxx (OLD PEOPLE FUN!). I really, really considered the Hondas incapable of flipping, turning over, or flinging me two dozen feet sideways through the air. I mean, LOOK at the thing.

 

 Anything you can actually nap on should safely be considered fairly staid, yes? I thought so. I grossly underestimated The Cowboy's determination to squeeze excitement from what is essentially a small boat. It took approximately 7 minutes for him to throw me off the back of the thing. To his credit, he did come back for me. That time, I saw it coming and turned loose and went limp, and so wasn't at all hurt or annoyed, just wet and cold. No biggie. I told him I'd just float there while he cut up some more and got it out of his system.  I grossly underestimated what it takes for The Cowboy to "get something out of his system."



What he is asking me there at the beginning is, "Did you see that rainbow chasing me?" Because he is so awesome that RAINBOWS CHASE HIM. Aggressively. With dolphins and flying unicorns in their wake. So anyway, the next fall, for me, was not so great. He was just having fun, and I've ridden motorcycles and jet-skis for years, and I know how it works if you're on back: You lean with the driver, and you are likely to get thrown off. I'm OK with that. But the Honda's staid and reliable (OLD PERSON) design includes a DEEP footwell on either side. And by "deep," I mean up to my mid-calf. And then there's the fact that I have that welded together, bone-grafted Frankenfoot on the right, with no inversion/eversion capability (translation: my right ankle is incapable of bending sideways). So, as long as I knew what The Cowboy was about to do, we were fine. I could lean with him through his dizzying tight spins, and if I knew when he was coming out of them, I could adjust with him, flip backward, and come out facing the other way and laughing my fool head off, because it was crazy fun. But The Cowboy is just not that predictable. Ever. So it wasn't long before he juked one too many times in rapid succession, and I zigged when he zagged, and unfortunately, I was ejected directly sideways...to the right. Which meant that non-bendy foot tried to stay behind, stuck in that deep, security-providing (OLD PEOPLE) footwell. And holy cats, I sprained the living stuffing out of that ankle. Ain't gonna lie, I cried. Right there in the water. Wouldn't even get back on the boat. Just floated and hurt and made The Cowboy go play some more while I recovered, because I was feeling pretty sissified at that point. But DANG. Ow.

After a while, he convinced me to get back on. I AM A SLOW LEARNER. Fast forward to 5 minutes later, and the identical thing happens again, same side. At least that time HE came off, too, which I think is what saved my ankle from just snapping in two that time--the whole watercraft tilted enough to turn me more or less loose, though my knee got torqued. It was at this point that The Cowboy offered the helpful observation, "You get hurt too easily." I bit my tongue until engine noise drowned out my response to that. *ahem* So finally, he took me on a nice, fast, fun, "I promise on my life you will not come off" jaunt down to Salt Creek, where I requested to be deposited on the shore so that I could just watch, nurse my ouchy ankle, and make videos of The Cowboy playing. Because honestly--HIM having fun? Equals ME having fun. I mean, COME ON. I defy you to watch this and not smile.



Pictured: Asking me if I'm sure I don't want to ride some more before we go back. Why, yes. Yes, I am sure, thank you all the same, sir.



I also think that perhaps I was justified in my decidedly evil-sounding cackle early on in this following short clip. Or maybe I'm just mean. But OMG my ankle had swollen to the size of a grapefruit by this point, and it HURT. And he was clearly fine. And I would totally have saved him if he wasn't, because among the many things I can't do, there are some things at which I am quite stellar, and swimming is one of those. I could have dragged him across to the other side of the lake if I'd had to, and towed the Honda with a rope between my teeth at the same time. WHAT. You can't prove I couldn't.



A short while after that, even The Cowboy was feeling the effects of the constant assault on his equilibrium, and was ready to call it a day. When I pointed out that, as a pilot, I thought he should be immune to such things, he retorted, "We don't fly in 10-foot circles." Point made. So I got to enjoy one of my favorite views of the day on the way home, when I wasn't just resting my head on his back and smiling like an idiot.

And then there was some muscle-y action, which is always good. For me, anyway. All I had to do was hold stuff that was floating. And enjoy the scenery.

Just in case you don't know the secret to procedures such as this, or you didn't have my dad or one like him, I will fill you in: You gotta hold your mouth right. And bingo.

And then we drove home, picked Bella up from school, and I crashed hard with my ankle elevated and swathed in ice packs, with near-lethal doses of Motrin on board, while the two of them went out and fetched Chinese takeout. And even with the busted leg? THAT WAS A GOOD DAY, my friends. A good, good day. I saw no one except people I loved, enjoyed amazing eye candy, and finished off the day with hot & sour soup. All win.