Utopia of the Seas!
Task 48, January 30 to February 6
My wife has been sending me e-mails and texts extolling the pure joy of cruising. And I’m not talking about bar cruising, which was a popular activity in the days when I was still single, specifically when Bill Clinton was in office. No, these are advertising posts for cruise ships of all types, varied by the size of the ship, the amenities, the length of the cruise, and the location.
Admittedly, there is some kind of cruise for everyone, but the very idea spooks me, and I ignored the emails and the texts until my wife angrily confronted me, shaking a finger and demanding, “what’s your problem with going on a cruise?”
Fortunately, her phone rang at the moment and she went to take a call from her mother, who lives in Phoenix. Given a reprieve, if only for a few minutes, I rushed to my computer to compose a list of reasons that would rationally, logically and irrefutably explain why I would never step onto a cruise ship.
Looking back at the list now, a day later, I realize that my reasons weren’t rational, logical or irrefutable, and in hind sight I shouldn’t have read them at all. But, if for no other reason than to try to induce a kindred spirit, or spirits, who agree with me, to drop me a note that back up my position so that I can persuade my wife, and maybe get out of the dog house, I am going to share the list.
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First and foremost, if your wife wants to kill you, there is no better place to kill a husband than on a cruise ship. “Oh! He said he was going for a walk on the deck after dinner and he never came back to the cabin”, or “I told him not to lean over the railing”, or “maybe it was the twenty second drink at the all-inclusive bar that did him in…” I love my wife but I don’t trust her. She’s devious and craven, as are all wives, and I wouldn’t put it past her to plot my demise years before she gets me to board a three day cruise to Ensenada and back, from which I wouldn’t make it back!
Also, I absolutely don’t want to be trapped, in the middle of the ocean if and when things inevitably start to go wrong. What do I mean? Watch the Netflix doc on the “Poop Cruise”, which refers to the Carnival Triumph incident in February 2013, where an engine room fire left over 4,000 passengers and crew stranded in the Gulf of Mexico for days without power, working toilets, or proper food. Raw sewage backed up into passenger areas, creating a major, infamous health crisis before the ship was towed to Mobile, Alabama. Ewwwwwwww…
Plus, I don’t need to be a slave to a theme, i.e. 80s, Broadway, fitness, grunge, disco, naked, Star Trek, Soul train. If I want to see KC and The Sunshine Band, I’ll watch them on YouTube, not in a ballroom with a thousand sweaty children of the Seventies.
Oh, and I don’t need to be sequestered in a place where an upside-down pineapple is a discreet, widely recognized symbol used by couples or individuals to signal they are interested in swinging, partner swapping, or group sexual activities. Argggggggg…
And, God help me, I will not, under any circumstances, have anything to do with cruise ducks which, if you’ve never heard, are rubber ducks that passengers hide on cruise ships for others to find as a fun, interactive treasure hunt, spreading joy and connecting cruisers through a shared activity that involves tagging ducks with instructions like “Keep or hide, you decide!” Noooooooooo…
After I read this to my wife she just shook her head, scowled and said, derisively, “you are no fun” and stomped off.
Ugly, but effective I thought. Until I opened my e-mail this morning. The first one was from a local theatre repertory company, and the subject line read, “Congratulations on purchasing the 2026 three-play package! You have two seats to Neil Simon’s “Plaza Suite”, plus our artistic director’s new take on Arthur Miller’s “Death of a Salesman” with three intermissions, and a lively version of the West End’s sassiest fare, “Noises Off!”
I looked up, and my wife was standing over me, smiling victoriously.
TASK: Husbands, choose your poison well…