Well, it’s come to this. It isn’t enough that I serve my addicted brain by spending my own
time cruising Yachtworld. Now I’ve begun to include my husband in the deal. Addiction, after all, is usually a family affair. So it should have come as no surprise to me that our ‘date night’ would have been more accurately termed ‘boat night’. Ah, sweet mystery of life!
No, dear reader, rather than address my addiction head on, admitting my lack of power over it and making amends to those I may have hurt while in the throes of my longings, I now reveal to you my secret shame: I actually made an appointment with someone who strikes fear in the pocketbook of thrifty boat lovers everywhere, someone who is so bold with his knowledge of the addiction process that he can introduce price creep without batting an eyelash. This person sits smack in the middle of the supply chain of boats both new and used, controlling access to the very substance that makes me quiver like jelly. No, I’m not talking about my husband. I speak, of course, about THE YACHT BROKER.
There is no help for the addicted boat shopper in the world of used boats. There is no such thing as ‘Boat Shoppers Anonymous’. Worse still, other boaters tend to simply commiserate with you and nod knowingly. They are no help at all. So, you see, I really had no choice but to meet with the enabling and friendly yacht broker, Lee Youngblood of Gig Harbor Yachts. Thanks to Lee we began looking at real boats in our price range. More about that sad fact later. Lee willingly braved the cold to show us several boats, including a Swanson 44, an Islander 36, a Pearson 365, and the outside of a couple of other boats like a Wauquiez Pretorian and a Lafitte 44 that was out of our price range. Price creep, anyone? I’ll be posting my thoughts on these boats on the ‘Boats’ page.
After our visite des bateaux, (as they say in France), on the cold December docks, we enjoyed a lovely dinner at Anthony’s at Shilshole Marina in Seattle. Then, thanks, again, to the completely enabling Lee, we capped the evening off by attending our first ever meeting of the Puget Sound Cruising Club. We enjoyed a slide presentation by Ken and Susan FitzGerald who shared their experiences cruising to French Polynesia and back. We were impressed by the friendliness of the group and the wealth of experience and knowledge represented.
However, none of these people was going to be impressed with my little shopping problem. One very nice lady asked if we were experiencing ‘sticker shock’ and when we confirmed that we were, she shook her head knowingly. That’s as far as we got in terms of sympathy. It’s not that as a group they are unkind, it’s that they are all in the same boat as we are, no pun intended. We get it. We understand now.
We did have a rather karmic moment that gives me hope, however. It went like this: After the mid-meeting coffee break, they did the drawing for door prizes. There were lots of people there, so I wasn’t really all that interested. Four door prizes, maybe 150 people there. Know what I mean? I don’t get too excited about these things. Here’s the actual conversation that took place. You be the judge of the karma involved:
Mike, turning to me: So, which prize do you want?
Me, unimpressed: What do you mean?
Mike, knowingly: Which of the doorprizes do you want?
Me, bored: You mean if you win?
Mike, smug: No, I mean which of them do you want WHEN I win.
Me, smartly: Oh sure! Okay, I’ll play your little game. I want the collapsible measuring…
Announcer: NUMBER 900!
Me, in falsetto whisper: cups.
Mike went to collect his prize, secure in his ability to manifest.
After allowing this show of utter mastery of the universal laws of manifestation to sink in, I have only one response to this event: Where is my million dollars, Mr. Prize Winner?