Boats Don't Have Brakes

For those of you who care (hi, Mom!) The Funasaurus and I are getting married in front of a little lake. (Arguably, an oversized puddle.) It’s very picturesque, complete with little white, wrought iron archway and faux wrought iron vines wrapping around said archway.

There is also a gourmet raft right behind the archway, that goes out on the lake, giving the bride and groom some quiet time right after the ceremony to absorb what’s going on. We kind of liked that idea, since at the various weddings that we’ve attended, the newlyweds seem to be perpetually accosted by well-wishers for the rest of the evening. (Not that we don’t want well wishes, we just like the idea of a few minutes of private time to talk… unless someone is desperate enough to wade out to our raft in the middle of their lake in their good clothes, in which case I will whole-heartedly invite them onto the raft to wish us well all they want, and partake in the champagne which I plan to take on the raft, as well.)

So anyway, the owner of the venue had told us that if we wanted to use the raft, that we should come up sometime before the wedding and practice getting around a bit, since it is a bit clunky and large, being sturdy enough to accommodate a couch, a table, and a bride who will absolutely kill aforementioned owner should her ridiculously overpriced dress get the least bit damp. The idea is that the couple gets pushed out to the middle of the lake, and then it is up to them to get themselves back to the shore using very long staffs, much like punting on the Thames.

Since The Funasaurus went to England once, and actually had the opportunity to punt, and apparently sucked royally at it, we thought it would be prudent to practice.

So we packed a picnic of cheese, pâté, and bottles (plural!) of wine, and headed up with some friends. As the six of us gathered on the raft, we realized that the max capacity was probably somewhere around 5 and half people. The wine already flowing, so that did not deter us. We pushed out, and then spent the next hour running around the raft, trying to counterbalance the weight of whomever was on the edge punting, so that we would not sink.

As The Funasaurus tried to navigate the docking maneuver at the end, I took it upon my rather drunk self to help him. Since we wanted to go right, I went to the left and started pushing on the staff. The Funasauaurs, however, was at the back, trying to guide it in, straight. So I managed to send us off into a spin, then tried to overcorrect by pushing back left, then whacked one of the friends (already on the shore) in the head with a pole, and eventually The Funasaurus suggested (NOT NICELY, I might add) that could he not just do this alone, please?

We eventually got on shore, bloated from cheese, drunk from wine, with very soggy shoes. I nagged The Funasaurus for not wearing sunscreen. He told me to stop being a drunken backseat driver. Our friends laughed, mercilessly. We topped it off with pizza, and came home. I think we are ready to get married.