We went sailing Saturday with our friends Steve and Tina. A few other people went, too, and the boat was quite crowded. It was a lot of fun except for the moment of pants-filling terror.
See, I went below to use the bathroom. When I went in, I found the toilet full of brown lake water.
"Steve," I called, "you wanna come look at the toilet?"
He did, so he left Tina at the wheel.
Steve did his boat captain mojo and the toilet drained. Just as he gestured for me to enjoy the facilities the floor below us went from a peaceful horizontal to an upsetting diagonal.
"Steve, get up here!" Tina yelled.
I dived out of Steve's way onto the bench beside the table and desperately grabbed at the drinks and snacks, trying to keep them from falling. I lost the Pringles, though. I looked out one window: water, disturbingly close. The other window: sky.
Terror On Lake Pontchartrain.
Steve set things right quickly, though, and I finally used the bathroom. On deck, everyone assured me that it had been quite exciting!
"Thanks for fixing the toilet, Steve," I said, "sorry I almost sank your boat."