Adopt-An-Old-Boat-Guy-For-A-Day

So I couldn't sleep last night. I think it's because American Idol starts today and I can hardly wait!

Or maybe it's because yesterday was national Adopt-An-Old-Boat-Guy-For-A-Day day.

Can you guess who I adopted? Huh? Huh? Huh?

You give up?

Okay, I'll tell you. But first you have to sit down.

And close your eyes.

Now stand up.

Now sit down again.

Now open your eyes.

I'll give you three clues:

1. He's from back in the day when this blog was just a twinkle in your eye.

2. I can't think of him without thinking of Miss Heidi and Swirl and Anjeny and Shelle Belle and the Nutty Hamster Chick and my cousin Emily at Art-in-Sewl and all of the other oldies but goodies who used to toilet paper his blog with me. But mostly I think of his daughter, my BBFF, who discovered my blog and propelled me into super stardom, (but refused to toilet paper her dad's blog)--the one and only, Funny Farmer.

3. He has a thing for boring old boats and while he was restoring his 1947 Gar Wood I had to scold him often for posting so many naked photos of his boat. However, with a little help from a loving friend, the naked boat repented, cleaned up her act and went on to win 3rd place in a boring old boat beauty contest.

You could say she went from geek to chic (which rhymes much better when spoken.)


Since I was the one who peer pressured her into getting dressed, I suggested she be named after moi.


Of course I was out voted by Murphy and his team of lawyers, who said they wouldn't touch that potential liability suit from the universe with a 10-foot pole.

So have you guessed it yet? Huh? Huh? Huh?

That's right! I adopted The Old Boat Guy.

You heard me right. And guess what! He's not as boring as his boat. He's kind and witty and wise. He's a perfect gentleman. He took me out to lunch. Along with my hub and my thirteen-year-old son and my sister and my mom. He took ALL of us out to lunch for all-you-can-eat soup and salad at my favorite all-you-can-eat soup and salad place in the whole wide world, The Olive Garden.

It was delightful.

Although when I asked if we could sit by the garden, I think the hostess thought I was prank calling her because she was like "what garden?" And I was like "you know, the garden where you grow the olives." And she was like "we don't have a garden." But I catch on quick, after I think for a minute, so I fired back, "well, we don't have a horse!"

Get it? Horse? Garden? Your horse is in my garden?

(I don't get it either.)

But anyway, if I had known the old boat guy was treating I would have invited more people, (my MIL in particular). As it stood, it was just the six of us.

It looks like there are only four of us, but my sis is snapping the photographic evidence and my son is hiding behind my hub because he doesn't want to show up on my blog.

Apparently he has no idea how many times he's shown up on my blog over the past 18 months.

For those of you who want to live vicariously through me, let me say that the old boat guy is as adorable in person as he is in print. I never doubted it, of course, except for a few minutes when he told me he'd be driving a gold Buick and wearing brown trousers.

In my language gold Buick translate like this:

Thank goodness the old boat guy is color blind. His gold Buick wasn't gold at all, it was more the color of hazy satin dawn or a sleek sunrise promise.

And that silly goose old boat guy wasn't wearing brown trousers either. He was wearing pants.

Anyways, Mahalo old boat guy for a wonderful adopted lunch.

And also for the bag of I-dee-ho spuds the size of vermont.