So somewhere in here, I wrote about how we bought a project boat early in the summer.
A cheap-ass broken-down project boat.
Mark wanted a project, and he swore that he would be able to get this boat out and onto the water within a few weeks. That did not happen. Then he left for several weeks, and the boat did not improve itself in his absence.
Which brings us to last night.
I find Mark in the driveway staring at the boat, his hands on his hips, “Kris, I put the steering wheel on it. Did you see? Looks good, right?”
I climb up onto the side of the boat’s trailer and ooh and ahhh over the brand new steering wheel.
Mark reaches with a dissatisfied hand to wrench the wheel first one way and then the other, “I installed it like they said . . . but it still isn’t centered.”
“Something about the tension is off, maybe?”
He throws his hands up in the air, “Maybe it will straighten itself out. Stupid directions.”
I giggle, “Stupid directions? That’s not like you.”
He sighs, “I just don’t like insurmountable problems.”
Uh oh, “Oh, please do not speak to me of another insurmountable problem concerning this boat.”
“Hush, Kris. I am trying to replace the steering cable, but this huge metal steering rod has to go into the motor, and it doesn’t fit. I mean it fits, but I can’t get the angle I need to put it in.” He pats the outboard motor and shows me the metal rod he has tried to jam into place.
People? I cannot even tell you how not-fitting this huge metal rod is.
I lean in to look at it more closely, “Are you sure you bought the right one?”
“Who knows . . . I think so.”
“Seriously? Who knows . . . you think so? You are kidding me now, right?”
He puts his hands on his hips again and speaks as though he and the boat have come to an understanding, “I’m sure this will work. It might not be perfect, but it will work.”
I look again at the angle, “How? No way this rod is going through that motor base.”
“I know, right? It does not look good.” He pats the boat again, “Did I tell you that this boat has more horsepower than the neighbor’s boat?”
I cannot stop giggling, “OK, but the neighbor’s boat actually goes in the water. Ours just sits in the driveway . . . not that much horsepower required for sitting.”
Mark laughs, “Damn it. It’s a good boat. You’ll see. When I get everything fixed, then you’ll see.”
“When will that be, you think?”
“I’m working on it.”
I giggle some more and then catch my breath, “Did I tell you what Kallan said?”
“No, what?”
“One of her friends asked her when we might be getting our boat out onto the water, and Kallan shrugged her shoulders and said, I am thinking that when I am a mom, I will have stories to tell my children about the summer I was 11 and we had a boat.”
“Ha . . . ha . . . ha.”
I am giggling helplessly, “Funny because this summer she is 10.”
“Yeah, I get it. Stupid children . . . all they do is mock.”
I cannot breathe.
Mark grabs a hammer and gives the uncooperative metal rod a few angry smacks, “Stupid children.”
I . . . am . . . dying.
I hold up a hand to ask for silence as I get it under control.
Mark waits, and then, “Have you calmed down? I need to tell you something.”
“Something more than the fact that we have a lovely steering wheel with which we will be completely unable to steer the boat?”
“Well, that’s the thing . . . I am going to need to take off the motor so I have room to work. This steering rod needs a straight shot, and the only way that’s going to happen is if I take the motor off.”
“Seriously? What does the motor weigh, like 500 pounds?”
“Yeah, something like that. So I am going to need your help. You and I together should be able to lift it.”
“Fuck that. All I imagine when you say that you need my help lifting this motor is the two of us footless. No way we don’t lose our feet when we drop this thing. No way.”
“Kris, it would be perfectly safe. I just need to install some sort of eyebolt to the frame of the garage and then you help me lift the motor away from the boat using a winch.”
I shudder, “OK, my feet are cringing in my shoes . . . they are that certain of the crushing doom that is to come. That, plus now you have added the spectacle of pulling our garage down upon itself. Not good, babe.”
He stares in frustration at me, “What do you suggest?”
“I don’t know . . . there are lots of boating places around here . . . doesn’t one of them have a hoist or something you could use? Take the boat to them and ask for help.”
He thinks for a second, “Maybe I could rent something.”
“Yes! Good. Let’s do that.”
He heads into the house to do some research on renting a hoist or crane.
This research somehow leads to the conclusion that we need to BUY a hoist or a crane.
I refuse to listen to this discussion, and I stick my fingers in my ears and go LALALALALALA until he stops talking.
But this morning? Here he is . . . all official, with a clipboard and numbers he consults in serious fashion . . .
“Kris, it costs $28.00 to rent the hoist I need for four hours. But if it turns out I need the hoist for more than four hours and I am pretty sure that I will because what if I have purchased the wrong steering rod system then it will cost $40.00.”
“Fine. Do that.”
“OK, but listen. I can BUY the same hoist I can rent for just $100.00. That’s just sixty percent more.”
“That’s some tricky math, babe.”
“Well, something like that. These are just rough estimates.”
“Explain to me again about how you are an engineer, babe.”
He ignores me, “So obviously, the smarter move is to buy the hoist. Then we can hoist things whenever we need to!”
“What else will we ever need to hoist?”
He smiles happily, “I don’t know. Stuff! I will be the man with the hoist! Word gets around, I am sure there are things that need hoisting.”
“How did I ever agree to marry you?”
He jingles his car keys, “So I’m going to go buy a hoist.”
“Babe, no . . . come on . . . then we just have another huge tool taking up space in the garage.”
Mark is triumphant, and he sits to show me the picture on his print-out, “No, Kris! Look! It folds!”
“Oh my god. Mark . . . just . . . no.”
Mark runs a caressing finger over the outline of the hoist, “Babe, we need this.”
“Oh my god.”
“Plus, I have a coupon!”
“Oh, well that’s something. How much less will it be with the coupon?”
“No, with the coupon the hoist is $100.00.”
Sigh.
So now we own a hoist.
Sigh.
