My father has told me since I was a child that I was not graced with coordination. When I was a teenager I left a note on the kitchen table saying that I was going to go try out skiing for the day. My Father said he picked up that note and held it close to his heart because it was the last communication he would probably have with me.
I did survive the skiing episode, but it was not pretty.
So this past weekend some friends tried to get me to go on a jet ski for the first time in my life. I said I'd go, if we stuck to the inlet, and a moderate speed. Well, the driver passed the inlet and there I see the yawning stretch of the Atlantic before me. Nothing between me and jolly ole England but a gazillion miles of treacherous ocean. The speed picks up and saltwater is lashing my face so that my eyes are just little slits used to peak through my eyelashes. A giant racing boat, aptly named The Rocket goes flying by us at 300 miles an hour leaving a six foot tall wake in its path. We hit the wave dead on and next thing I know, the warmth of the vinyl seat has left my rear end. I'm flying through the air and in the corner of my squinted eyes, what do I see, but a fin! Yes, a fin slicing through the water.
Having spent a lot of time on the Discovery Channel, I learned that you need to punch a shark in its snout to disorient it. Ever punch a shark? It's like tapping 'the Hulk' on the shoulder. Fortunately with I being fair of skin, I had enough suntan lotion on that I landed on the shark and slid down his body, grabbing onto that fin and somehow coming to rest in a straddled position. You want to talk jet ski! I now was on the ride of my life. He started in towards shore, believing in his little shark mind that the faster he went the easier it would be to shake me. Well, I held on for dear life until finally he bucked like a bronco and I flew threw the air and collided with a barnacle-covered buoy....cutting up my foot in the process. hahahaha...okay, truth be told...I never went in the ocean. I rode the jetski around the inlet at fifteen miles per hour and when we pulled back up to the pier, in my typical graceless fashion, I slipped climbing off the jetski and scraped my foot against the barnacle-covered ladder getting out. bah