MAIDEN VOYAGE OF THE SS MIDLIFE CRISIS--MAY DAY MAY DAY

The boat didn't look particularly seaworthy to me but what do I know? I must say I prefer staying firmly planted on terra firma, but I gamely fly for time saving reasons (at least pre-9/11) and will occasionally allow myself to enter into the water, rarely as a swimmer unless the water is either chlorinated or crystal clear--don't enjoy the possibility of having large-jawed or snapper clawed creatures floating about me.

But the ex husband went out and bought a boat. In similar fashion, without any input from me, he bought a convertible, a motorcycle, and a house in Vermont. But let's stick with the boat.

The kids were screaming to go for a ride so reluctantly, I consent. I ask ridiculous questions like is the gas tank full, are the lifejackets up to code, do we have any sort of map, communication devices?

Geez, we're only going in the Long Island Sound, I'm told, so stop nagging already. Fortunately, we bring along a veteran boater who seemed calm enough, even started the trip with no lifejacket. The kids and I were snapped into the jackets before we even left the house.

As we cruised slowly in the no-wake zone, I thought, "this isn't so bad." Once outside, my ex husband, the epitome of extremes, floored (dashboarded) it, the boat went just about vertical, and off we went. I'm screaming, tightening the lifejackets, ushering the kids to the center of the boat. Imploring them to duck. They are upright, reveling in the stinging sea spray, lost in the speed and the revving noise.

Next thing, there's smoke pluming from the downstairs cabin. "The boat's on fire," I scream. I'm screaming so much no one pays attention and who can hear a freaking thing anyway. Only when the veteran boater screams for a lifejacket and grabs the ex, does he cease maniacally gunning the engine and pull back.

So here we are, in the middle of the Long Island Sound--and don't underestimate its daunting size--with a boat on fire.

My mind is racing. Should I throw the kids overboard and dive in with them? If so, will we get drawn into some crazy current, eaten by sharks, hit by blown-up boat shrapnel? What's the alternative? Staying on the boat to be blown to smithereens like in some gangster movie. Do they ever survive? I think not!!

The ex fumbles with the radio--no one really knows how to work it because we've never been out before and NO ONE HAS TESTED THE THING.

"Uh, Help, I think our boat's on fire" he hesitantly says into some speaker device. I'm frantically in the background shrieking "MAY DAY, MAY DAY"--isn't that the boat 911 equivalent? A voice comes over asking for our location. WHAT? Do you think we would have brought proper mapping devices to track our latitude and longitude or whatever measure you use in water location tracking.

We're somewhere in the Long Island Sound--between Long Island and Connecticut is shouted into the radio. Well, that'll help pinpoint us.

The resigned voice of one who has too often heard such responses from loser newbie boaters. "There's a boat headed your way. Jump on asap."

Our rescue boat is headed toward us! I'm in a panic. Now we'll all die, us and the poor rescuers. Any second, we'll blow up. They drive alongside. The kids are thrown over, I go next, the vet boater, should we leave the ex? Well, my opinion is not asked so over he goes, the rescue boater guy screaming like a maniac, HURRY UP!!!!!!!!!

So we speed away and I look back at the now tiny-looking boat, bobbing sadly on the water, billowing smoke. From afar, I see the approaching water rescue teams--a small boat with a huge projecting stream, fancy red watercrafts.

Now I'm switching from heart racing fear to gut wrenching fury.

We're dropped off on the dock and I storm off with the children in tow. The ex stays to deal with the boat. Is it evil to hope he never returns? I get on the phone immediately and begin recounting our near death experience, frightening the kids more than is necessary.

The boat is returned and turns out it just overheated! Lordy! But now the kids have banded with me in protest of further boat rides. The ex sometimes just goes out at night and spends the night at the marina on the boat--at least that's what he says.

Several months later, in the circle McDonalds parking lot, a sketchy man pulls up in a cab with an envelope containing $3,000. The ex was to meet him there to sell the boat--which cost far, far more than $3,000. Of course he was working late so I have to go. I meet the guy who hands me an envelope. I hand him two keys. He asks if I want to count the money. Uh, no thanks.

Ex gets home and asks how transaction went. Where's the money he asks. As if I'm really going to turn it over to him. So all's well that ends well. We didn't die, no more boats, and I got a nice little shopping spree.