In my lifetime, I’ve dated more than just seamen.
I’ve dated equestrians (never try to love a man who might love a horse more than you), I’ve dated professional cyclists (saddle sores can and will kill a romantic evening). I’ve known fishermen (no matter how hot they are, you can’t get over the smell of fish guts), and I’ve known race car drivers (making out with a manual stick shift between you is no one’s fantasy).
But readers, it’s the sailors I keep coming back to, time and time again. That’s because romance is literally written right into the language of sailing. Don’t understand what I mean? Check it out:
Any port in a storm. It’s last call, and you’re looking rough. But going home to watch TV with your roommate and all those cats just isn’t an option. Good news! There’s a sailor waiting for you at the end of the bar. He’s been noticing you all night, but he’s shy to the point of a spectrum disorder and doesn’t have the courage to speak to you. Swoop in on that sailor, let him take you back to his boat for some snuggling, and save the Blue Bloods marathon with your roomie for another night!
Hard and fast. Hold up, kids. This is a family publication. Meaning “not to be modified or evaded,” you can trust your sailor to roam the seven seas with a heart whose compass rose is set permanently on you. And some other stuff.
Shiver me timbers. Sailors are known hotties. There’s so much to be said for a Kaenon tan, the “l’eau de B.O.” lingering on your sailor’s skin, the sun-kissed locks thick with salt and spray-on SPF. Throw in a Hawaiian print shirt and some jorts, and I’m done.
Batten down the hatches. Have some home improvement projects you need to get done? Just wait for hurricane season, when all the liveaboard sailors flood local bars looking for some shelter in the storm. Even better, you can kill two birds with one stone: get that light fixture hung in your bathroom AND find a date to your cousin’s wedding.
Broad in the beam. As a broad in the beam gal myself, I will tell you that all sailors appreciate a few more inches down below. I like to refer to my hips as a “PHRF killer.”
I like the cut of your jib. This is pretty much as close as any sailor is ever going to get to saying "I love you."
Don’t give up the ship! When two sailors do meet, fall in love, and marry, you can bet that they’re going to be together forever.This is also partially because a sailor will never admit to having been wrong about anything. But still!
Happy Valentine’s Day from everyone at SpinSheet! --by Puffy Derkins
