We are aboard the 65-foot Schooner Mallory Todd, where
revelers are lauding the accomplishments of Melanie, who has just
earned a master’s degree from UW. Her partner, Best Girlfriend Ever,
has rented the yacht for the day (complete with captain and crew) in
order to celebrate accordingly. A “hot lemonade” is placed in my
hand—serrano-and-jalapeño-infused vodka and
lemonade on the rocks, with a sprig of cilantro—graciously mixed
by a snazzy gentleman in a moss green windbreaker. We sip the spiciness
and sail eastward through the ship canal.
Partyers have dressed for the occasion, abandoning their everyday
attire for yachtwear: punks in plaid and nonprofit types in sporty
stripes. As a cupcake sugar rush collides with the vodka, the
conversation naturally turns to boat shoes. Do they really serve a
greater purpose than imbuing their wearer with ironic hotness? Or is
our perspective skewed by the dashing sailor-in-training whose
loafers we (not so) discreetly discuss? Best Girlfriend Ever sets us
straight with tales of the innovative Paul Sperry, of Top-Sider fame,
who took a knife to his soles for optimal wet-surface grip.
Suddenly, a small hand appears and my world becomes unbearably
bright. A little girl has removed my sunglasses and is staring into my
face. After considerable pondering, she pronounces, “Some girls
don’t look very much like girls.” I concur, and she moves on to
her task of the day: skylarking and screaming at the tipsy guests to
“look up!” as we pass beneath bridges. 
Want to teach The Stranger how to properly pee off the
side of a yacht at your house (or boat) party? E-mail the date,
place, and party details to partycrasher@thestranger.com.