There are a few things in life that Mr. C. Cow knows more about then I do. Collecting antique milk cans. How to make stripes and plaid go together. Boating lingo. While I might be able to “natter like a pirate”, boat parts and whatnot are confusing. When Mr. C. Cow starts talking about the “stern of the boat” I keep thinking that it means the boat is really strict. I was told that stern means “the after part of the boat” I still don’t know what that means. What’s an “after part”? Once he showed me the fluke of an anchor and I thought he was talking about the anchor having some strange stroke of luck. I don’t think Mr. C. Cow was very impressed with my boat knowledge.
We have been sailing a few times together. While I’m under the impression that I’ll get to wear a pirate hat while sipping cocktails on whatever part of the boat is the cocktail deck, Mr. C. Cow is more into practicing his square knots on the starboard bow.
Wow! We have a star on board? Neato!
Maybe I should brush up on my terms because Mr. C. Cow keeps shaking his head every time I giggle at the word “Bulkhead”. Come on! It sounds like someone with a really large (and heavy) head. Who wouldn’t giggle at that? I also should probably tone down my pirate talk on our next trip together. Mr. C. doesn’t appreciate it when I keep yelling “Watch out fer sharks ‘n jellyfish Sailor Cow! Pass me th’ rum! Yarr!”.
We all like to get a bit goofy at times. I actually do know where the starboard is on a ship. (It’s the right side of the ship when looking forward.) Mr. C. Cow knows that I really don’t think a bulkhead is a large-headed individual. Being best friends we sometimes like to pick on each other. Even so, I do insisted that I get to wear a pirate hat and drink cocktails on our next boat trip. Maybe this time I can figure out where the cocktail deck is.
Mr. C. Cow likes to collect antique milk cans. Do to the cans being so large and unable to fit into the camper properly we usually have to ship them back to our home base. I think that we probably have a few thousand milk cans just hanging out in a barn out back of our house somewhere. None the less Mr. C. Cow keeps collecting them anytime he sees one that tickles his fancy. It’s getting to the point that we’re either going to have to buy a second barn or he’s going to have to start giving people milk cans for the holidays.
Today was, in all honesty, the perfect day for Mr. C. Cow to go antique milk can hunting. We had found the perfect seaside town brimming with antique malls and I was itching to try out my new portable submarine I bought on dbay (or is it gbay? I can’t remember.).
This submarine had all of the bells and whistles. Radio that got a signal underwater, sweet paint job, seats that accommodated someone of my short stature. I’ve never actually driven a submarine before so I was careful to not run into the various sea creatures, boats, and shoreline I would quickly come up to.
I would like to apologize to that large sailboat I ran up on quickly while screaming “Stop Submarine!! STOP!!”. I wasn’t sure where the brakes were and thought they might just bow down to my commands. Sorry about that.
When it was time to leave I had figured out everything from doing donuts to quickly maneuvering around fish. Mr. C. Cow had come away with not one or two milk cans but at least twenty-seven. I tried fitting them all in the camper. Some sat in the shower. Others were stuffed under the bed. I even tried to put one in the glove box but it wouldn’t fit. I’m afraid to take all of these milk cans to the post office for shipping because it will probably cost me more then they are worth just to send them back home. I’m not upset with him buying milk cans (I did just buy a submarine off of an auction website). I’ll pay the shipping costs to keep him happy. After that I’m finding him a help group for milk can collection addiction issues. Or at least talk him into sending a few to friends.