Sunday, August 05, 2007
Today we went out on my father-in-law's boat. The last time I was on a boat (15 years ago) I puked my guts out.
Yaakov wanted to go, the kids had life jackets, why not? Let's give it a whirl. BAD IDEA. As soon as we started I wanted to get off. I was so nauseous. Then I had to deal with my father-in-law's little platitudes: "Well, if you're not going to let yourself enjoy the experience..." I was secretly plotting to never let him in my home again.
It was 95 degrees, there was no shade. The baby was kvetchy, I was sea-sick. I tried going downstairs but that made me feel worse. There was no refuge. I hated how my father-in-law calmly steered with his foot while eating a nectarine. I hated that I had no control of my circumstances.
I was feeling miserable and I was cranky as all get out. (I later confessed to Yaakov: "When I'm cranky like that, I like to take everybody down with me." "No, really?") I realized I had a bad attitude, and I tried to think happy thoughts. It didn't quell the nausea.
After lurching in someone's wake, I finally puked. It was totally humiliating. But it did make me feel better for about 10 minutes. And I think my father-in-law started to feel compassion for me. "This must be a daughter-in-law thing," he mused. "The only other person who ever puked on this boat was Carrie."
I told my father-in-law I was sorry for puking on his boat, but I really wasn't. I'm glad I puked on it. On our way home I told Yaakov, "I'm never getting on a boat again." "Bli neder," he said. "No, I'm never getting on a boat again."