I recently rode a jet ski for the first time in my life. Maybe this is a past-time that is better enjoyed in one’s youth. Maybe it’s because I was the passenger and wasn’t driving. I’m not sure what exactly went wrong, but I will never do that again. Even as I held on and begged Jesus to allow me to remain alive, I was writing this blog in my head. I have you, my dear readers, at the front of my brain at all times.
My friend, Busty la Blonde, decided it was time to take a jet ski out as we lounged on the lake at another friend’s house. For whatever reason, I thought this sounded like a bag-up idea. “Yes! Yes, I would LOVE to ride behind you on that jet ski, Busty!” I cried.
b = Busty m = me
2b = m
m/b = 2
Busty is petite. She put on her child-sized (No. Literally.) life jacket. I put on my regulation grown-up-sized life jacket. She drove the ski into the shallow water, I climbed on and then she climbed on in front of me.
Now, if you have never ridden a jet ski before, here’s something that may surprise you. I imagined that I would just hold onto Busty and we would zip around the lake like two gorgeous teens in a razor commercial.
With life jackets on and arms that are more than certainly shorter than average, there’s no way I could just wrap my arms around Busty. My hands could reach the sides of her life jacket.
But NEVER FEAR!! Jet skis come fully equipped for passengers! I was provided with a 1 inch wide strap that ran across the seat and was directly in front of my genitals. This location is optimal for holding on for dear life!
So, I held on to my tiiiiiiny strap with one hand and onto some sort of strap on the side of Busty’s life jacket with the other. We started idling toward the mouth of the cove we were in towards the big, boat-packed lake.
As we idled and the ski teetered back and forth a little when Busty turned, I was comfortable. I thought Weeeee! This is fun! Then, we got to the lake and anything resembling fun ended.
Watercrafts of all shapes and sizes sped by as we merged into the Churning Cauldron Of Death that was the lake. Busty accelerated. I held on to the bra strap between my legs. We went in a straight line. All was okay-ish.
Then, we needed to turn. No one fell off. Shwew! Busty accelerated some more and approached the freshly-turned wake of another boat.
Me: “You’re going to hit that wake!”
B: “I know. Hold on!”
To what? TO WHAT SHALL I HOLD ON??!! This piece of cooked spaghetti between my legs??!!!?!
Now, my body is beginning to tear in half starting at my vagina, which just came slamming down onto the saddle and my thumb knuckle. I’m beginning to panic.
Busty slows down now so she can be heard and asks me if I could please not hold onto her jacket so tightly because she’s having trouble steering. I believe we looked something like this:
Anyway, while it was fairly quiet, I told Busty that I was not enjoying myself and I would like to please be returned to dry land.
We had been on the Churning Cauldron Of Death for approximately 23 seconds.
So, Busty, God love her, turned the Missile Of Horrors back around and headed for the cove. Of course, now that we’d crossed the water traffic once, we had to cross it again to get back.
I almost lost my contact, water flew directly into my lungs, I literally almost cried, and I almost fell off the back, but we made it safely back to the cove.
We idled back to our friend’s house. When we were almost there, Busty turned towards the shallow water to let me off and someone else on and dumped us both off instead. She climbed back on and suggested I do the same.
No, no. I’m good. I’d rather swim back – I’d rather EXERCISE – than get back on a jet ski ever again.