The Bad Business of the Batteries

Tears of regret and fear are rolling down my face. I would have liked to have seen the Bahamas. How long will it take for our bodies to be found? 

I’m in a standard boat stance (the most uncomfortable position possible) over our batteries, holding the connectors together to prevent them from sparking while Matt preps and adds some wire that is definitely not worth risking my life for. (Some sort of tree hugging wind generator project. I say, aren't prairies peaceful! Trees are panic inducing!)

For some reason, I was boycotted into this “easy” “quick” job as I walked in the door. I’d been at work all day, and I'm pretty sure Matt was in his PJs sipping mojitos until 5 minutes before I showed up. 

I’m bemoaning the fact that I didn't get a chance to change and am now being boiled alive by my beastly and suddenly very hot work pants. The connectors have been sparking and my nerves are frazzled.

Then, Bob's your uncle and despite my ineptitude and hysteria, the job was miraculously complete.  No one is dead. The Bahamas can still be seen. Trees are available to be hugged. 

I sank into self-loathing for being so pathetic and such a loser for a second, and then a peppermint martini was poured. 

We shadily met Papa John’s in the parking lot (much like the drug deals we regretted not making before death), drank more peppermint martinis and watched the Geminid meteor shower.  If you can survive it, boat life can be so sweet. What larks! 

Peppermint Martinis solve everything. Picture taken on Someone Else's Boat, which is the best boat there is! 

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