I know what you’re thinking. At first glance, from the
shins up, you probably wouldn’t guess that I could steer
a boat. I’m just a skinny teenager wearing shorts and a
button-up. Even though my outfit is embroidered with
thousands of tiny anchors, you probably see me as just
another Dry Lander. How could I possibly captain a
vessel, you might ask. Well, I implore you to look a little
deeper. And by deeper, I mean lower. At my feet. Yeah,
I’m wearing Sperrys. I bet you feel like a real jerk now.
You can tell by the Sperrys on my feet that I totally know
boats. Porthole. Look, I just casually threw a boat
word into this totally un-boat-related conversation. Only
captains can do that. I just want you to know, if there
was an emergency and my dad had lifted my ban from
his yacht, I could save the day so easily. And look good
doing it.
I really hate it when people judge you without getting
to know your footwear. They are always saying, “This kid
shouldn’t go near a boat after all of his preventable boat
accidents.” But they make those accusations before even
noticing my new shoes. This is America, land of the free
and home of the acquitted thanks to expensive lawyers. I
can do whatever I want, no matter what that judge or jury
or my parents or anyone says.
Back to the point: I’m a changed man. I have new
shoes, and I am totally ready to take command. I want you
to trust me; if you set sail with me, I’m sure that we will
make it to harbor safely. Boom. Boat metaphor. I’m
killing this, like I totally didn’t kill those passengers on
that cruise ship last year.
In summation, because I am a successful, trustworthy
boat captain, can I stay at our house on the marina alone
this weekend while you and Dad are at your convention?
Thanks in advance.
Boatingly,
Sperry “Sperry” Sperryson
P.S. They have plaid on the sides.
—B. Rudeen
