A Canoe is Not a Boat (And Other Nautical Delusions) - Humour Column

-

There is a specific kind of delusion that sets in when you are exactly forty-eight hours away from turning 41. You start looking at your life—the steadily declining 2013 Dodge Dart, the 6-year-old son who vibrates at a frequency that shatters glass, the depressing keto diet where you try to pretend that a slice of turkey wrapped around a stick of butter is a "wrap"—and you think: I need to be on the water.

I needed a boat. A boat is a universal symbol of middle-aged relaxation. A boat implies you are sitting in a comfortable chair, moving at a brisk pace, and doing absolutely no physical labor.

So, I went to a website called Boat Trader. My financial strategy was flawless. I am well aware of the MEDICAL FACT regarding boat ownership: the two happiest days of a boat owner's life are the day they buy the boat, and the day they desperately try to get rid of it.

I expected to find a digital wasteland of defeated men. I expected to find guys named Captain Ron, weeping openly in the classifieds, begging me to take a 25-foot cabin cruiser off their hands for seventy-five dollars just so they wouldn't have to pay another month of exorbitant dock fees. I was ready to swoop in like a vulture, sign a piece of paper, and instantly transform into a maritime leisure enthusiast.

Instead, I was ambushed. I was digitally assaulted by an army of delusional people who were trying to sell me canoes. At full retail price.

Let me establish a firm, undeniable rule of human civilization: A CANOE IS NOT A BOAT.

A boat has a motor. A boat has a steering wheel. A boat has a cup holder large enough to accommodate my sheer exhaustion. A canoe is a hollowed-out log that requires you to perform grueling, synchronized upper-body manual labor just to move six inches against a mild breeze. A canoe is not a vehicle; it is an aquatic treadmill.

Yet, these people on Boat Trader are aggressively demanding top dollar for what is essentially a tippy plastic bathtub. They write listings that say things like, "Great for exploring nature!" and "Only $900, firm!"

Listen to me, Todd. I am almost 41 years old. My lower back currently requires a written apology every time I bend over to tie my shoes. If I get into a canoe, I am going to immediately pull a latissimus dorsi, drop the paddle into the abyss, and float helplessly into the territory of a deeply aggressive swan.

Furthermore, I have Caleb. You cannot put a hyperactive six-year-old with a nuclear fusion reactor for a heart into a canoe. He would immediately stand up to look for a turtle, the canoe would flip, and I would be forced to spend my twilight years treading water in a murky lake, trying to save my discount bacon from the depths.

I did not go to Boat Trader to buy a floating chore. I went to buy a bargain-basement nautical dream fueled by someone else's financial ruin. So I closed the laptop, sighed, and went back to the kitchen to mentally prepare myself for a dinner that is basically just melted cheese pretending to be a taco.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

I Invested in Bitcoin at Winn-Dixie (And Other Signs of Impending Doom) - Humor Column

-
Grocery stores used to be simple. You walked in, you bought your discount meat, and you left. Now they want you to invest in the future of global finance while you're standing next to the claw machine. At 40.9 years old, my personal financial strategy consists of hoping the check engine light on my 2013 Dodge Dart is just a suggestion, keeping my fingers crossed that Caleb doesn't outgrow his shoes this week, and occasionally finding a crumpled five-dollar bill in my laundry. I am not what you would call a HIGH FINANCE EXPERT. But the other day, Caleb and I are at Winn-Dixie. I am there to buy heavy cream and an offensive amount of bacon because I am still punishing myself with the keto diet. MEDICAL FACT: If you eat enough bacon, your body eventually stops realizing it's starving for carbohydrates and just accepts its greasy, miserable fate. While I am comparing the prices of pork products, Caleb has wandered over to the front of the store. He is currently vibrating at a f...
Read more

My Son Thinks Blockbuster is a Dinosaur (And Other Tragedies of Middle Age)

-
In exactly two days, I will turn 41 years old. I know this because my lower back sent me a certified letter this morning stating that it will no longer be participating in any activity more strenuous than a mild sneeze. At 40.9 years old, my body has officially transitioned from a functional human organism into a heavily depreciated 2013 Dodge Dart. I make grinding noises when I shift gears, I leak fluids when I stand up too fast, and I require constant, expensive maintenance just to keep the check engine light from blinding me. This physical decline is not helped by my current dietary strategy. In a desperate attempt to fend off the expanding reality of middle age, I have committed myself to the keto diet. MEDICAL FACT: The keto diet is a scientifically endorsed method of tricking your body into starvation by forcing you to eat nothing but bacon, heavy cream, and vegetables that have been tortured into shapes they were never meant to hold. Last night, I ate a "pizza" where t...
Read more

How to Buy a Stranger a House in Two Weeks (A Guide by Grandma Susan) - Humor Column

-
There is a universal law of nature that dictates what a grandmother is supposed to be. A grandmother is supposed to bake cookies, smell faintly of peppermint, and sneak twenty-dollar bills into your pocket while whispering that your parents are too strict. Caleb’s grandmother, Susan, missed this memo. Susan is 67 years old, but she operates under the firm delusion that she is a 24-year-old cast member on a Bravo reality show. Let us start with the makeup. Susan will not leave the house without a full, theatrical face of cosmetics. I am not talking about a quick swipe of lipstick. I mean a layer of foundation so structurally dense that it requires a trowel, a curing period, and a municipal zoning permit. If a meteor strikes the earth tomorrow, the only things to survive will be cockroaches and Susan’s contouring. But the real comedy comes from Susan's deeply held, unwavering conviction that Caleb’s mother, Ashley, and I are raging drug addicts. Just to set the record straight: we ar...
Read more