How I Met Eric

I met Eric after my third sailboat race at the Sloop Tavern Yacht Club. Liesl Mordhorst had been tactician for us that night on our all-women’s learning team on a J105, Puff. She convinced our team to go to the Sloop Tavern after the race to network and hopefully get rides on other boats. I hate bars, I hate large social gatherings, I wanted to go home. I respected and admired Liesl from the first, she taught me a lot in one evening, so I reluctantly went.

I stood in the corner of the noisy dark bar in my rainbow unicorn hat, brightly patterned sweat pants, and half shaved head sipping a club soda. I am, if nothing else, a fashion icon. Liesl pointed out some of the best sailors in the room to our team, people we might learn from. She stated, “these are the people I would sail anywhere with.” Two of them were very tall, well over 6 feet tall, so they stood out to me. I appreciate male humans in the extra large variety.

One of them sauntered over. He was middle aged, had a long curly greying ponytail, and a burnt out 90’s grunge look with khaki cargo shorts and socks pulled up high. He was also drunk as fuck. Liesl introduced us and told me he had been on Kowloon, a top race boat in the area for a long time. We started chatting about boats and the local conditions, and she drifted to go socialize with others. 

He was extremely friendly and had a little bit of a southern accent which took me back to my youth in Kansas. I couldn’t figure out if I liked that or not, but it was familiar. He was attractive minus the hair and outfit, but my mind zoned him clearly as not my type.

He stood way too close to me which was awkward. He talked a lot, which was overwhelming. I couldn’t figure out a polite way to disengage. It was confusing because he was on one hand off-putting, yet he came across as good hearted and sweet. He had no creeper vibe or alternate agenda feel, he was just drunk and a little weird.

To make life complicated, I did have a shocking moment wondering what it would be like to fuck him. This was followed by several body signals of interest which my mind immediately rejected. I wrote it all off as being single for way way too long.

I dealt with the mixed feelings and didn’t blow him off like I usually would because he was highly informative and enthusiastic. As we talked about sailing, he showed me maps of Puget Sound and the San Juan Islands on the wall and explained all the big the distance races. I was not sure if I was into racing yet, but I knew I wanted to cruise. I was interested in hearing about the terrain from someone experienced. 

He told me about Race to the Straits to Port Townsend and Down the Sound to Tacoma. Intrigued, I asked him to explain this, “Round the County” race circumnavigating the San Juan Islands. As my questions got more complex and technical, he kept looking at me like I was magical, as if he were in disbelief. He asked a couple of times, “You really like this stuff?” It was amusing at first, then I started to wonder if he was a man shocked that a woman might like sailing. Internal hackles started to rise.  

To top that off, he started to say with a slight slur and wafting beer breath, “My God you are beautiful.” The first time I let it go because he was clearly drunk. I said a quick, “Thanks,” then I went about asking about currents and tides in various areas. The next time or two I laughed it off and ignored it. I was not going to flirt back and wanted to focus on sailing.  

Finally, he leaned in way too close and said, “Wow, you really do like this stuff, huh? And you are soooo beautiful, look at your smile, you have a really great smile.”  

Now I was pissed. I stood upright, lifted my chin and in a firm tone with my best fuck-you-shit-eating-grin said sharply, “Ya, and I’m super smart and good sailor too.”  

Eric backed off a step and looked truly apologetic. For a beat we stared at one another. I wondered what he was going to do with that piece of sass.

He cocked his head and an eyebrow shot up with a slight smile to suit. In a smooth disarming southern lilt, he said, “Of course you are, I just assume all women are smarter than men, aren’t they?”  

I cocked my head in return with a skeptical eye squint and brow furrow thinking, “WTF, did he just really say that?”

Another beat, we stared at one another.

Then we both started to laugh. Maybe this guy wasn’t a total idiot. I agreed with him of course, women are usually smarter than men, then went on to talk more sailing. He stopped all the side comments and focused on currents and wind angles. He knew his shit and I learned a lot in a short period of time.  

He managed to get my number at the end of the chat, “To maybe go sailing sometime on his little boat.” I gave it to him, partly to end the conversation and go home. I joked with my friends about the tall drunk southern sailor guy who flirted with me and had zero chance in hell. But…I might sail with him sometime.  

FAMOUS FUCKING LAST WORDS.

Seven years later:

I’m married to him.

And we’ve done most of those distance races, including Round the County. Turns out I really do like this stuff.

Let it be known that the eyebrow head tilt smile look is his official warning “I’m about to say something charming.” This is often followed by my skeptical look of “WTF, did you just really say that?”

And it frustratingly works on me EVERY SINGLE TIME.

Happy kissaversary to my beloved sweet Eric, a hell of a sailor and gem of a man.