To the tune of Ani Difranco's Let's Do It, Let's Fall In Love
Sharks do it, seals do it
Let's do it,
Let's pee in the sea.
Hours before nature called and I actually had to commit to dropping my drawers, I envisioned this scene and it always ended up the same - with me backflipping midstream into the sea with my shorts around my ankles while my sun-starved behind blinded every retina in a 20 kilometer radius.
Holding the tiller in my left hand and a cleat on the starboard side at the stern in my right, I cautiously eased my snow-white Canadian behind over the edge of the 16-foot skiff.
The sweet release of fluids came quickly, for I had unwisely been holding it in for fear of a)my male boatmates glancing back at an inoportune time, b)the scenario described above that likely would have resulted in me drowning in less than a meter of clear Bahamian sea water because my legs were tied together at the ankles with my own clothing. The latter worried me far more than being seen.
Miracously, I did not backflip into my own refuse. Nor did my boatmates, the local fishermen or the sight-seeing tourists in my immediate vacinity report any burned retinas.
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