So, we went out on the boat tonight with a group of people from church. And as we were doing the last few things before leaving the slip, Mr. Sweetie asked me to check the gas levels, which requires using a long dipstick and dropping it into the tank. Which I did, and as I pulled it up, I was surprised by how far the stick was coming up dry. I mean, At the first tick, I didn't really expect any, but by the second tick. . .and then the third. . .
And as I was watching this stick remaining mysteriously dry--
I knocked the gas cap loose and plop! it fell into the river.
Right there in front of all those church people, and the pastor, and a party of eight on the boat in the slip next to ours. . .
And even the guy manning the gas dock knew about it.
So, I guess I need a new pirate name. That's First Mate Butterfingers, if you please.
(Yes, Mr. Sweetie managed to retrieve it from the mucky bottom with his skillful use of a fishing net. So we didn't explode the boat with all those people from church, plus the pastor. Thank God.)
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