Mrs. Boil Goes Waterskiing

Sometimes in life we make bad choices. In my case I was trying to stretch myself, not the way I do after a nap, but emotionally, mentally, psychically. My limiting beliefs have caused me to miss out on opportunities. Who would have thought that poodles would catch on when I predicted they were just too ridiculous for anyone to consider seriously. Yet there they are in dog parks across the land, straining at the end of a leash as if they were Lassie or something, clueless that they look like Lassie with a bad perm and a cheap dye job. My broker came to me with the opportunity to invest in poodles, but I deferred when I shouldn’t have. That was my lesson that one can never underestimate the intelligence of the general public. I mean look at how people are giving serious consideration to Sarah Palin.

So my friend Cozette Funk called one morning to tell me she was going up to Willard Bay for some boating and invited me along. Even though I am deathly afraid of water, I also believe that I can’t allow fear to make my choices for me. I pushed past my fear and came to appreciate both Thomas Kinkaide as an artist and Applebees for late-night dining. Plus I was all wired up on Starbucks latest brew which might have accounted for my impetuousness, so I said, “Let’s boogie.” Next thing I know we’re blasting around the bay, Cozette at the wheel and her sister Luscious Tappscott behind the boat, riding the water weenie with three kids. I was sunning myself on the bow of the boat when Cozette tells me it’s my turn.

Well this is my moment of truth, my time to break through my fear. This is when my therapy, all my internal work, all my mental discipline must come into play. My heart was pounding, but I maintained my aloof posture, my appearance of calm and control. My religious training and my year at BYU had taught me that if we fake it on the outside it might eventually stick on the inside. It has never worked, but still I persist.

So I climbed out onto the water weenie with the children, who refused to get off and before I could really get settled Cozette guns it and we’re off. Reflexively my claws come out to hold me in place which is as you can guess the wrong thing to do on anything inflatable. There is a hissing noise, like steam leaking from a radiator and all the children’s’ heads turn. Again I act nonchalant. As far as they know I’m carefree and bold, the wind whipping through my whiskers. I am Magellan on the open ocean facing the storm. They are all pointing at the tiny little puncture marks at my feet and starting to shriek. I look down and back towards them. “What?” I say.

The craft is losing air and we’re now bouncing around on the water, completely destabilized. Well I suppose I needn’t fill in the rest. Cozette took a picture.

What can I say? Life comes at you fast as they say in the insurance commercials. And speaking of insurance, thank goodness I pay my premiums. The mental health benefits have allowed me to work through my weenie nightmare with Cuddles Bullough my therapist. Cuddles is a godsend really. We have both struggled with PWSD, (Post Weenie Stress Disorder). Being a Dachshund she has been referred to as a weenie more times than she can count, and the intersection of our weenie traumas has created a deep bond between us that ultimately resulted in the healing I now feel.