- Screaming across glassy water at downright irresponsible speeds, risking (at the least) imminent bodily harm.
- Anchoring myself to the steering wheel like a hostage wired to a bomb clutches the motion-sensitive detonator.
- Snickering at the epileptic tach needle as it mirrors my uncontrollable bouncing over even the slightest trail of "lake lice" (you may refer to them as jet skis).
- Wondering how effective "racing shoes" really are at being life-saving flotation devices. (Yeah, still not buying that one.)
All for a rush that makes my cheeks burn with excitement, my abs sore from uproarious laughter, and my dreams ring with the sound of a surprisingly throaty little 350 that packs a punch.
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What's not to love?!?
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Plus I giggled like a school girl in pigtails...wait a minute, I was wearing pigtails...when I stood up out of the carbon fiber sliver, unstrapped my helmet from my harness, pulled off the helmet, peeled off the "sock" (more sweat-net than anything), shook my hair out -- and a boat full of boys, their dad, and their grandpa, stared until the youngest boy shrieked:
"WHOOOOOAH!! That's a GIRL drivin' that thing?!?!"
Believe it, cutie. Mission accomplished. :0)
Mad props (Haha!!! Get it?! Props? 'Cuz boats, and, um, yeahhhh.....) to my brother, Paul, who's teaching me (select bits of) everything he knows, and for my brother, Buzzz, who slaved with Paul over the Money Monster for more months than they care to count.
Seriously. Nothing says love like letting your little sister race your prized possession.
Plus I think the family had fun chillin' on shore.
Now THAT's my idea of a Friday.
