We had a rare opportunity to be dragged on a tube behind a Jet-Ski earlier this week. If someone had just proposed the idea that way, I might have opted instead to continue nursing a lovely glass of red wine on the dock.

While tubing sounded like great fun during the preparation phase, I quickly learned tube dragging does not rank high on my list of things I want to try again. In fact, it might actually end up on that other list of itemized human torture methods or, ways to bribe your children to eat more green vegetables.

Greg was the Jet Ski driver so really, he owned the lake. Hoisted high above the tube he had all the power. Those of us in the more vulnerable, bums in the cold lake position were at his mercy and he took great joy in watching us sweat buckets perspire.

As he powered up, the tube went through a vigorous series of quick yanks, lifting the portion housing our legs almost perpendicular to the water, folding our bodies at the neck until it had dragged our partial handstands at least thirty feet.

Greg giggled while he caught glimpses of his family being smacked in the face with cold lake water, pelts strong enough to crack my cheap sunglasses up the middle. He would argue it was their seven dollar price tag responsible for their demise. I choose to believe it was death by pelting.

There were many moments I thought I had swallowed enough water to be considered legally drowned but I would squint toward my daughter in the other seat who was squealing with glee and that got me through the darkest moments.

I’m not about to admit I dropped the F-bomb (three times) in front of my oldest daughter but that might give you some insight into how angry I was to be the assigned chaperone in the tube of death with the-devil-wears-Speedo at the helm.

At one point, Hanna suggested if we found ourselves in danger we could use the handles as walkie-talkies and call out “What be the problem?” A solid plan Hanna. I’ll translate from the Pirate-to-English dictionary while you come up with a better idea. Again, there are no bad ideas when you’re brainstorming.

I considered at one point letting go of the tube and flying feet over hands, cart wheeling into the lake at top speeds but I quickly vetoed the idea when I pictured myself on America’s Funniest Videos with children of all ages laughing at the placement of my bathing suit and the suicidal expression on my face.

Why do my most important life decisions almost always involve that show?