Really?

It's Saturday afternoon, not even summer by most accounts, and by two in the afternoon it is HOT.  You know Charleston gets so hot so soon (right, Hootie?).  The biting flies and mosquitoes have discovered that I am their buffet; a blood meal with a kick after the couple of beers I had at lunch.  Good beer and mussels pistou at the Rue.  That's 39 Rue de Jean for those of you unfortunate souls who aren't familiar. My intention is to bring all flies and mosquitoes who choose me the best in international cuisine.  Bon appetit y'all.

We received a call from a friend of a friend about a deal. Well, deal is a magic word my friends.  Especially in the boating world right now because it could very well be true in this economy.  The story:  A divorce.  A bitter woman.  A massive Catamaran.   A 50 foot custody battle.  A desperate owner willing to sell practically for dock fees.  I look out over the glistening Ashley River and back to this behemoth of a boat sitting in the boatyard.  By the way, boatyards are interesting places. In my opinion, they are much like a gynecologists office for boats. Here they are, sitting up in the stirrups for the world to see their delicate but highly functional parts.  50 feet of Catamaran in well...ok shape still makes me have butterflies.  I begin to think and plan...Needs some paint, some love, some blue water.  As I'm walking through the salon noticing the amazing amount of light pouring in, I imagine myself in my bathing suit and gauzy cover-up serving drinks to friends.  As sweat rolls down my back and my belly I am reminded that nothing will be gauzy for very long in this climate or the one we are dreaming about.  I duck into room after room.  I know I could definitely live here; the berth is an actual queen bed...not even kidding!

Drew and I look at each other with that knowing look, if this boat is priced as we were told, we are sleeping here tonight and driving to Myrtle Beach from Charleston every day until summer!  So with the owner we talk and we laugh and we sit on the deck.  We split up and look at every detail: lines, navigation equipment engines, refrigerators, stove, head, and we grow more and more hopeful.   After an hour and a half, I climb down the ladder to signal the end of my looking and I hear Drew's voice on the wind, "Well, what are you asking for your boat?"  I am now playing a frenzied match game in my head...please let the words that pour from his wallet match what we raced here for.  $150, 000.  Really?  I wish I could charge mosquitos and flies for my high quality blood.  Then I could buy this boat.