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Being a sailor, and therefore delusional, you fight on. Everybody on board has bad hair and a touchy tummy. But there’s hope on the horizon. There’s hope because in another 15 knots – a unit of measure unknown on land and irrelevant on water because there aren’t any signposts letting you know there’s a McDonald’s in 15 knots in case you have to go to the bathroom, which is a head on a boat, a term stripped of anatomical relevance since if you’re on a boat you clearly aren’t using yours anyway – you’re going to turn around and go, say, north. Don’t ask why you’re going to turn around and go the opposite direction you were just traveling; that’s the way things happen on boats.
As soon as you turn north, basking in the knowledge you aren’t going to be taking the wind on the nose any more, the wind will change and start blowing out of the north, a condition heretofore never recorded. That, and a broken framitz stabilizer, is the only thing you can be absolutely certain of when you get anywhere near a boat.
Are we there yet?