Ever since Al and I started with sailboats, we have heard the dreaded tales of the cruisers who weren't. For whatever reason, these poor souls had fully intended to spend their days at anchor in gorgeous island settings, and then "POOF", something happened to their plan and there they are, to this day, tied up in yonder slip over there. Reckon they will never leave.
I know what happened.
It was the air conditioning.
Yep, pluggin' into the dock, and experiencing the cool, dehumidified blissful sleep that can only come from the air conditioning did them in.
Of course, I tell myself, We are still working on the boat and couldn't go anywhere if we wanted to right now; I mean, the instrument pods are dancing all over the cockpit floor, the giant chartplotter box has yet to have us miscut the template, sending us into sure panic and subsequently in search of a restaurant.
But then I think, "This is how the air conditioning works." It lulls you into a sense of false security, slowly, sensually, seductively weaving its icy tendrils around your sweat glands until you don't know if you were even ever meant to leave the dock.
I must remain vigilant.
But that is so hard to do when I step below into a chilled environment that any self-respecting southern boat-dweller would give up her Bahamas chartbooks for.