I returned from vacation not too long ago. My family made it down to Holden Beach, North Carolina. This particular beach was somewhat secluded and far from the typical tourist trap like you can find in Myrtle Beach. I found this destination by utilizing my resources in a very effective manner. We were invited to join three other families in a beach house for the week. So I basically said, “sure, here is a check.” I highly recommend planning your vacations in this fashion. It is a very low stress approach.
One afternoon in the middle of our wonderful vacation, I got to experience riding on a jet ski for the first time ever. We rented two jet skis for the four of us. My wife would ride with one of our sons and I would take the other. My boys are twelve and thirteen and failed to make the requirement of the minimum age to be the driver. This requirement can be found in the verbiage of a zillion page small book of a legal document that you have to agree to. There are a thousand places to initial here, sign there, date here, put a thumb print there. I try my best to read as much as possible whenever signing my life away. I look for the obvious warnings like: If you scratch the unit, you agree to pay for the repair and buy the rental company a second brand new jet ski as well.
While reading as carefully as I can while holding off my boys excitement I couldn’t help but notice this warning: It is highly recommended that riders wear a wet suit. Water may forcefully enter your rectum and vagina. Well now that’s an eye opener! I had to read that one aloud to my entire family. Three out of four of us don’t have a vagina, so at least that reduces the odds of potential injury significantly.
Anyway, my family is out and about bouncing over each other’s wakes. Fun was being had. Water spraying and splashing us all over. Well, not completely all over. Although I can be sympathetic to the poor soul who sustained that horrible situation that dictated the warning, I’m not sure what position we would need to be in to achieve the forceful salt water enema. The fun ride completed without incident, unless you count the number of times my son and I shouted, “rectum, hell, it killed him.”