Who Peed on my Seat? [#15]

The Ruby Vi has four en suite cabins and a fifth queen berth (currently serving as a catch-all for everything we’ve yet to find a permanent place for). Relatively speaking, she’s pretty roomy.

That said, no one moves onto a sailboat thinking they’ll have more privacy than they did living in a house, but I had grand dreams of at least having my own head (boat-speak for toilet).

The odds have been stacked against me in the bathroom for the better part of two decades:

I’ve been married to a man for 18 years and have two teenage sons. In that time, we’ve never lived anywhere with as many toilets as there are full-time residents.

Until now.

I repeat, Ruby Vi has four heads.

It’s only logical to assume I get one of them. To myself. A gloriously clean, functioning, not-splattered-upon toilet. That is always flushed.

Incorrect.

I forgot about the Rule of Boats that clearly states, “Don’t get too attached — it’s gonna break real soon.”

So…just the one working head then.

• Four heads — three of which are broken
• Four humans — three of whom are stand-to-pees
• One functioning head. One devastated sit-to-pee

The Rule of Boats takes no prisoners.

Like everything else that breaks/cracks/seizes/blows a fuse/floods/stalls/… we John (or a boat wizard) will fix the heads. We’ve grown fond of a slightly modified version of an old adage — two steps forward, three steps back.

There’s no time for self-congratulation on the Ruby Vi.

As soon as the heads are fixed, something else will go. She’s always the undisputed winner. We tell ourselves it’s all part of the adventure — part of learning the boat and her systems and adjusting to this new normal.

And, with a glass-half-full-of-rosé attitude (albeit one we have to consistently remind ourselves to uphold), we’re quick to acknowledge that we’d rather be slogging up the steep slope of this learning curve in Charleston than while crossing the Pacific.

So give us your best shots, Ruby Vi. Bring on the broken heads and busted pipes. We’ll tend to your clogged sea strainers and leaking water tank.

But, in the space between projects, we’ll make time for sunsets and swimming and southern food. We’ll try to pause for bocce and beach chairs and we’ll even practice squeezing in a day of sailing here and there. We’ll take the dinghy to dinner and go for long walks on the docks.

Along the way, while sweating profusely from humidity-that-has-replaced-the-need-for-lotion, we’ll remind ourselves that small victories — like getting the tiny washing machine to work — are still victories. (Don’t tell Ruby Vi.)

I suppose I might even stop asking absurd questions like, who peed on my seat? Because, duh — they all did.