Setting Sail

The father walked up to the bowline with his ax, grimaced, and swung down hard. The tiny boat was cut free from the ocean liner. The mother shrieked, “How could you! At least you could have stowed weather gear and radar devices and shark repellent and torpedo missiles and satellite phones, but no, not even a box of tissues! You cruel man!”

The father looked 45 feet below deck to the waterline. The tiny boat was adrift. He looked back at his wife’s angry countenance, and then shouted over the great sea, “Ah hoi there.”

The timid couple were desperately tending to the high waves of groceries, insurance, internet fees, and rent.

“Ah Hooiiiooy there,” he shouted again.

The mother arranged to crane over a payload of gold and caused the newlywed couple to fear for their vessel’s seaworthiness. The father waved it off. Then he remembered the one thing he did mean to stow on board. A slight splash was heard.

“What is it,” asked the newlywed wife to her newlywed husband? “It’s a rudder,” he answered, fastening it to the boat, feeling thankful, and setting a course to sunset.