Last Ski of the Season, Don’t Ask to Use Your Wife’s Truck

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Yesterday it was supposed to be 75 degrees Fahrenheit. It wasn’t. It was more like 65˚ with a water temperature of 66˚. My friend Dan needed help taking his boat out for winter storage. We tried this first on Monday when it was 75˚ but confusion ensued when I showed up at his house in the VW Jetta.

“Guess I should have been more specific” he tells me as I jump out of the car.

“I’m sorry?” My shorts and flip flops still crisp with enthusiasm.

“We need to use your truck to pull the boat out of the water.”

“Oh. I just assumed you would have your wife’s Suburban thing. What do we do now?” thinking of myself, I mean my kids.

“We can still go out.” Dan suggested. But the kids didn’t seem to mine swimming off the dock as we hung out chatting. I could pass for the day knowing we’d be back.

So why no Suburban at home? Turns out his wife, while being an GM executive and driving a vehicle that could clearly tow their boat, plays by the book. GM company cars are for A to B and company business. Not for spouse trading. Seriously? Ah, yup. If GM’ers have a employee lunch that day or need to trade vehicles internally and yours is getting recreational use by your husband instead of shuffling cohorts, you are frowned upon. Like the frown stays upside down.

So here we are thee days later in slightly colder weather for round two. The kids were supposed to go tubing but they bowed out after paddle boarding, fearing the chill in the air would be worse at 35 mph. So Dan, his middle daughter and I took the boat around the lake, running Stabil in the tank to prep the engine for hibernation. My kids were not disappointed and either was I to miss tubing. But we stopped mid-lake, I looked around the boat.

“You got a ski?” Yeah, right behind you. I hadn’t slalom skied in 15-20 years but couldn’t resist. The double boot slalom was tight, the water refreshing and views spectacular. I turned one lap on the lake. Nothing fancy, but got up first try, then called it quits. With no towels on board, I air dried back to the dock carrying bumps of goose, jumped off, got the truck and met him at haul out.

Last one to ski Crooked Lake this year? You wouldn’t think so after the summer-like twelve mosquito bites I got while enduring this trailer yank.  But it’s raining today and suppose to drop to 49˚ tomorrow so I bet I get to claim “that guy” status until next year. Not that anyone would know… or even care except me. That guy.

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