My Fair Lazy - Jen Lancaster [22]
“You have any idea how to operate a riding lawn mower?”
“No, but that’s beside the point. Forrest Gump could drive a riding mower. Think about it—he was s-l-o-w.”47
“Your logic is irrefutable.” He rocked back on his heels, placing a hand on my shoulder. I detected a hint of smug about the eyes but chose to ignore it.
I pointed at a line of text on the screen. “Says here this is a twelve-foot rigid inflatable. I’m not sure what the means, but it sounds awesome!”
“Awesome,” he agreed. “And you plan to white-water raft . . . where? The wild rapids of the Chicago River? Gonna perfect your sweep stroke while you cruise past the steel recycling plant on Elston? Or navigate the strainer at Navy Pier?”
“There’s got to be somewhere in Illinois to go, right? Oh, but we’d have to get a couple of those silly little helmets first.48 We might have enough points for those, too.” I tabbed through the other pages of rewards.
“Sure, sure, that all sounds like a fine plan. But, um . . . where will you store your twelve-foot rigid inflatable?”
“In the rafters up in the garage. Naturally, I’d have to deflate it first. Also, I’d have to get rid of the baby pool currently up there, but I’d be willing to make that sacrifice.” Maisy lay down on my feet in a show of solidarity. “See?” I asked, pointing to the dog. “She supports my decision fully. Remind me to get her a doggie life jacket so she can come with us.”
“I’m certainly glad you’ve secured the dog’s vote. But tell me, you plan to reinflate the raft . . . how?”
“Bicycle pump, duh.”
“Of course, bicycle pump. You could blow up your raft while you watch television.”
I nodded. “That’s the plan.”
“Our living room’s only eleven feet long.”
“I’ll angle it.”
“We used a twelve-foot rigid inflatable in the Army. Took seven men on either side to paddle it. Wasn’t easy paddling, either; each stroke of the oar was like lifting a shovel full of wet sand. So, if fourteen fit men had trouble moving the raft from point A to point B, how do you plan on making it go?”
“I have plenty of strongs, and the rapids will do most of the work for me. Plus, Maisy can sit in back and provide ballast.” At the sound of her name, her tail began to thump.
“Well,” Fletch said, clapping his hands together, “I can see that you’ve thought long and hard about this. Tell you what. I insist you give up your opportunity to see yourself on television and have a great weekend with your friends in New York to get this raft. Here, let’s get it right now.” He scooted me out of the way and went for the keyboard.
I stiffened in my seat. “Whoa, wait. . . . Hold up. I should maybe reconsider the raft for a second. I mean, summer’s mostly over, so I won’t get in a lot of sailing—”
“Rafting. You’re only sailing when there’s a sail.”
“I mean, rafting—what are you, Captain Stubing now?—and I really do want to see everyone. And what if I can’t find a matching life vest for Maisy? Maybe it’s a better idea to go to New York? Plus those little helmets would mess up my hair.”
He mulled over the idea for a moment. “If you don’t get a raft, you won’t have to throw your baby pool away.”
“We do like sitting in the pool when it’s really hot out,” I admitted. Although I always have to monitor Maisy when we’re wallowing because she won’t get out to pee, either. This dog truly is my soul mate. “Maybe I should just get the plane ticket.”
“Only if you feel like that’s a better idea,” he called over his shoulder as he walked back to the living room.
I chose New York, so I’m here in my first-class seat,49 trying to figure out how many free Bloody Marys it will take to assuage the guilt I feel about being a thousand miles away from my unfinished manuscript.
I blot at a tomato juice spot on my black Lacoste, then lean back and sigh contentedly.
Looks like three is the magic number.
The girls pick me up from the airport and we drive straight to the beach. When we landed, the pilot said it was ninety degrees