Old Enough to Know Better, Too Young to Care Part 1

Boy, oh, boy! That describes last weekend to a "T".

Several weeks in a row, I've been planning on cleaning up my boat. One time I didn't was because it was raining too hard. Another, had to go visit relatives. Another, woke up with a terrible migraine. Another, slept in too late and the heat went over 90 before 9 a.m. One thing after another, it kept getting put off. Oh, yeah, had to go fishing on a buddy's boat one time and twice took the grandson to a fishing pier.

I got ready to go Saturday and took out the jump-start-air-pump only to note that it needed to be charged. I knew I would need it because one of the three trailer tires has a very slow leak and it had been a long time. And the boat is not stored at the house - it's at a nearby Navy base and I have to drag it home to work on it and drag it back when I'm done. When I searched for the charger adapter, I realized it had been in a drawer I had cleaned out and junked when we moved the bedroom from upstairs to downstairs. However, I'm rambling, and that story is for a different blog. Suffice to say I had to go to the local Pep Boys to buy a new charger-pump. And, typical for that kind of thing (and because I always, or almost always, read the directions) I had to charge it for 24 hours before using it the first time. So, all day Saturday, the charger sat on the charger. OK, so maybe it was only 21 hours, but the indicator indicated fully charged.

Finally. The boat is at the house. That's right, went to the storage lot, hooked up the boat, filled the tires with air (did I say only one had a slow leak? Hmmmmm . . . ) and dragged that sucker home. You wouldn't have known the boat was light blue and white. It looked mungy green and black.

So, what's better for knocking out mold and mildew than "Hey, Honey, ya got a bottle of bleach anywhere?"

Um. Did I say that I always read the directions? Well, maybe not always.

About a third of a bottle of bleach to a third of a gallon bucket of water seems just about right. I mean, that mung IS really mungy! I don't want to be out here scrubbing in the heat of the day.

Hose, check. Boat brush, check. Old rags, check. Bucket of bleach water, check. Old sneakers, check. Old shorts, check. Old shirt, um, wasn't thinking about an old shirt.

About a third of the way down the inside of the boat I notice the tips of my fingers are burning. So are the tops of my fingers just behind the nails. SWMBO says it's because I've got soft hands now because I have a soft job now. Maybe she's right. I flush them with hose water for a couple of minutes, they feel a little better although they're a little red, back to work. Gotta get this thing done once and for all.

Get to the outside of the boat. My knees are burning a little. Fingers are on fire. Still, ain't gonna wimp out. I'm going to finish this task if it kills me. Or robs me of the use of my fingers.

Raise the rag up to clean down the high sides of the boat. The bleach water is running down my arms from the rags. Armpits probably needed a mold/mildew check anyway. TMI?

SWMBO is tired of hearing me complain about my fingers and suggests I wear a pair of rubber gloves. Yeah, right, like that would help now. Besides, only one side and the back of the boat to go. It's almost ninety, the humidity is high, I can't see for the sweat in my eyes and the agony in my fingers won't let me think of anything else.

But, the job got done. On Monday, after I tossed and turned all night and woke up several times because the sheets hurt my fingers, I couldn't work a zipper and buttons were beasts. Even trying to spread shaving cream on my face was agony. Typing was a struggle trying to use thumbs only. Not to mention slow. Which explains why I wrote this a week later.

Next time? I think I'll read the directions.