You Can't Find Good Help These Days...

I forgot about this part of the rafting trip.

As we were eating breakfast in the morning before we shipped out, I told Mike that if I was going to die on the Nile river, then I wanted to go down happy, so my main goal was to get into a raft full of hot chicks. Mike said he wasn't too happy about that idea, since he's married. I said, "You're damn right you're married, and to my sister, so watch yourself buddy." But what Mike didn't seem to realize, was that being married, he's the perfect wing-man. "Your job," I explained, "will be to set me up, feed me lines, and generally feel satisfied vicariously if I find someone to keep my Banda warm tonight (climate not withstanding)."

I'll admit, I didn't have high hopes for Mike's novice wingman skills (nor my own appeal for that matter) but all that went out the window within five minutes. We were collecting our equipment, fitting our goofy helmets, cinching our corset life-jackets, when they told us we needed to divide into groups of about 8. I had already positioned us near the cutest girls on the trip and things were looking good. Then from our other side someone says, "We've got 6." Quick as anything, Mike shouts out, "Well, we're two, let's link up." I looked over at our new team. Four guys and two large middle aged women.

Thanks Mike, you can be my wingman anytime.