But I did complete #14 today. "Take Tillerwoman out to lunch to let her know how much I appreciate her letting me go sailing all weekend."
As I wrote in The Meaning of Wife, we men will never understand women. Their minds work differently from ours.
Several days this week I asked Tillerwoman if she would like to go out to lunch. She always had some reason why she didn't want to go.
But today I found the secret key. I didn't ask here if she would like to go out to lunch. I said, "Let's go and have some oysters." Worked like a charm.
So we went to the Boat House and had a dozen Powder Point oysters on the half shell. From Duxbury. Plump, salty-sweet with a remarkably clean finish. (It says on their website.) But they were good.
I've even sailed at Duxbury. I seem to remember the water was salty-sour and my race finishes were remarkably unclean. Oh well!
I've been reading on Mitch's blog and in other places how bad the blue crab harvest is in the Chesapeake, and how expensive soft shell crabs are becoming. So imagine my surprise when the waitress said there was a special... a soft shell crab sandwich! And very reasonably priced.
I asked her where the crabs came from. Maryland, she said. Delivered to the restaurant live, she said. And then she launched into an explanation of how the chef chops the eyes and gills out himself and would we like him to come to our table and explain how he does it in even more graphic detail...
Ummmm. No thanks.
Just bring the sandwich.
It was delicious.
As were the two pints of Smuttynose IPA.
I came home and turned my boat over. I think it's the first time I've looked at my bottom in 5 years. Not a pretty sight. I cleaned it and polished it. Good for another 5 years, I reckon.
OK. I'm done.
I'm ready for the regatta now.
Bring. It. On.