...and sometimes they're assholes.

Our boat hated Jon when we first became her owners. No matter that he was the one with the job, the one responsible for paying her bills, and covering niceties like fresh paint. No matter that he was only home a few days a week most weeks. Fattycakes was determined to take him out.

It started out with little things. Hitting his head on the companionway hatch. Hitting his head on the boom, on the ceiling above our bed. Whacking his knees and elbows on various stationary objects. Some of these incidents could partly be blamed on some sense of poor spatial relations but sometimes it really did seem like the boat wanted Jon dead.

Every time Jon would attempt a project he'd get hurt or the project would totally backfire on him in a magnificent display of Fattycakes spite. Like the time he went to change the oil and he was all careful and methodical but then something happened with the pump and it sprayed oil everywhere. All over the floor and my new throw rugs and the kiddo's bed.

One night Jon got up to pee and stubbed his toe on a piece of wood trim and broke his toe. He broke his toe! In the middle of the night. On his way to pee.

At one point we debated naming her Salome, after the biblical character who asked for John's head on a platter. Seemed totally fitting.

There were plenty of other times when the boat ceased being awesome. Like the time the engine crapped out ten minutes into our trip to Provincetown. There were no weird noises to warn us of impending doom, no thick exhaust or any other sign that something was about to go down. The engine decided it was done for the day, I am not going to Provincetown, thankyouverymuch, and that was it. We were abeam a mooring field and able to pick up a mooring and wait out the engine's hissy fit. It started up an hour later and we were able to get back to our marina. Still have no clue what the actual problem was. It worked fine later.

Or the time our propeller shaft separated itself from the v-drive as we were backing out of our crowded marina. We lost all steering and about wiped out a row of docked boats.

Or the time we were sailing and suddenly overcome with the stench of raw diesel. The engine was off. I went down to investigate and discovered a couple of gallons of diesel sloshing around the bilge. The seal around the fuel cap failed and as the boat heeled over, diesel sloshed out. That was a fun mess to clean up.

Or the time we took a three-day vacation to Tampa because Boston was a block of ice and I needed to thaw out. We came home and found out that our boat had tried to commit suicide. Her shore power cord was totally burned up at the boat's inlet. It's pretty amazing that the boat didn't burn down. Of course this meant that the boat lost power which meant that the space heaters turned off which meant that all of our pipes froze. The water pump and shower pump and a faucet froze and would all have to be replaced. Nothing like coming home to a freezing boat with no power or water and upwards of $500 worth of needed repairs.

There were all kinds of annoyances, things that are easy to overlook when we're being sentimental. Sure, we had a million good moments aboard our beloved Fattycakes, but it was never easy. It was never stress free. It was never cheap. Our bodies were never without bruises and scrapes from the daily battle of life aboard. The boat was always needy with projects, stuff that had to be completed on top of normal daily maintenance tasks required simply to stay afloat.

Random bruises after a day sail. Sexy. 

Cleaning mishap. 

Retrieving a stuck halyard.

Tired. 

Cranky.