Before I get started, let me just say that, in general, I enjoy being your family's boat. I could do a lot worse, like my friend, Carolyn Skiff, who was bought by a crab fisherman and forced to do manual labor six days a week, carrying heavy traps and nasty bait, and only getting a quick hose-down at the end of a 14-hour workday. While I wouldn't change places with her for anything, I would respectfully like to bring a few issues to your attention.

First off, let's talk about my maintenance schedule. What maintenance schedule, you ask? Ah-hah! That's what I'm talking about. Although you can go 4,000 miles in your car before changing the oil, the same standard doesn't apply with boats. I know the dealership can be a bit pricy, but they know what they're doing. That guy who works out of the garage at his house thinks my onboard computer "thingy" is useless and is just another "fancy doodad" that can only break. Check your last bill from him. It shows that during your last tuneup, he charged you for points, plugs and a condenser. News flash: I'm fuel-injected, which means I don't have points or a condenser ... your '69 Chevelle does.

What's up with letting your accident-prone children drink grape juice while on board? Do you have any idea what that stuff does to my beautiful, white gelcoat and pristine vinyl? And then you clean the spills with bleach, which is like using a nuclear bomb to dig fence post holes. I hear apple juice can be very refreshing; you might want to give it a try. But if you do allow your kids to imbibe Welch's grape juice or invite your friend "Tipsy," the cabernet connoisseur, on board for a dockside party, use white vinegar and water to clean spills on my upholstery and gelcoat.

At first I thought it was kind of cute the way you had trouble docking me early during our time together; I understand that's pretty common for new boaters. But we're entering our third year, and it's getting embarrassing. My "rub" rail looks like someone has pounded out the drum solo from "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" using ball-peen hammers. Take it easy, and if you get crossed up, back up and try it again. What do you say we spend a few hours practicing sometime?

Mostly, I miss you and your family. Despite your flaws, I love taking everyone out on the lake and hearing the screams of terror/pleasure from your kids as you tow them around on that gaudy inflatable. (I do wish you would color-coordinate those things with my hull, though.) And then there was that summer we all went to Canada and had such a great time cruising and exploring. I get lonesome underneath the tarp in your backyard, especially when the sun is shining. I know you're a busy guy and you mean to take me out, but something always seems to come up at the last minute. Your dealership has lots of scheduled group outings. Why don't you sign up for one, and you'll find yourself sticking to it once you have it written down in ink on your calendar.

Listen. Your kids are getting older, and very soon you won't have the opportunity to see them as much. (If you think that I'm kidding, listen to "Cat's in the Cradle" by Harry Chapin.) I don't know if you've noticed, but the more time you spend on me, the better you and your kids communicate. Think that's a coincidence? Not to be immodest, but that's me working my magic.

One last thought: Sell the motor home. It's getting in the way of our fun out on the water, and besides, it flat out told me it doesn't really like you very much, anyway.   
 

Illustration by Brian Buxton