"Now, Annie, this boat's not leaving the dock until it's perfect," said Bill, who was in the canal behind our house on his 32-foot Luhrs boat, working on the engines. "I don't care about fishing. The boat has to be fixed."

"You spent thousands of dollars for two new engines," I noted. "How much work?"

"I'm not sure, but this boat isn't perfect."

The next day, I heard Bill yelling out back.

"Annie! Come quick. It's an emergency!"

Upside down in the bilge, Bill watched gas streaming out of the tank.

"Put your finger here."

My finger didn't work, but Bill finally stopped the leak.

Bill checked the manual -- only two teaspoons of fuel could blow up a boat!

The next day, Bill rushed into the room.

"We're invited on a boat trip, Annie! The three boats will go up the Florida Keys to Miami and stay overnight."

"When is it?" I asked.

"We leave tomorrow, Annie. Aren't we lucky?"

"You're kidding! Lucky? Go tomorrow? The motors aren't fixed, and what about the gas tank leak?"

A small gas leak was a big leak to me.

"Don't worry about a leak. I patched it."

"You patched it!" I exclaimed, unconvinced. "What if it springs another leak? Two teaspoons of gas and we blow up. It's an omen!"

"We'll be OK," he assured me. "You pack clothes and get food."

When a friend called, I told her about the trip and leaky gas tank. Our friend recalled that Bill always said, "When your number's up, your number's up."

"Tell him maybe your number isn't up yet," she advised.

The next morning, the three boats assembled. Bill said he'd bring up the rear.

The rear? Why the rear? If we're in the middle, they'll see us if we blow up!

"We won't blow up," he said. "And we'll be in contact by radio."

Later, I remembered the old saying: A dog is man's best friend, but Dramamine is a boater's best friend. Thank God for Dr. Dramamine.

Still, my thoughts kept returning to those old first-grade reader books. "See Bill's boat. See wife Annie. See Bill's boat blow up. See Annie blow up!"

We planned to stop at Islamorada for lunch, but didn't when a huge black thunder cloud appeared with water spouts at each end. Omen No. 2.

Bill had me hold the wheel. Suddenly, he yelled, "We're filling up with water! It's almost over the engines!"

He had a horrified look, but I remained calm.

"Call John on the radio," I advised.

This was easy as all three men were named John.

Bill called "John" on the radio, and their boats headed back. The bilge pump pumped out the water. Omen No. 3.

We stopped in Key Largo and the boat belonging to one of the Johns was hauled out for repairs. The next morning, Bill took a test run on our boat. No more water came in, and no explanation, but it satisfied Bill.

Since the next day was Sunday, John's boat couldn't be fixed right away. John and his wife joined another boat.

When the boats got to Miami, Bill's boat couldn't go under three bridges. The outriggers and antennas were too high. Bill had to circle and wait until bridges went up.

The next morning, our marine radio wouldn't work. Another omen. Nonetheless, the men decided to head for Bimini in the Bahamas.

"You're going to take our boat that had a gas leak, filled up with water and has no radio to signal for help across the Atlantic Ocean?" I asked hypothetically and excitedly. "There's something wrong with this picture!"

I considered this radio thing Omen No. 4, along with the other omens -- gas, thunderclouds and water leak. There was a black cloud over our trip.

We crossed on a beautiful day, but it took all afternoon in Bimini for the men to go through customs. Armed with passports, Bill came back and informed me I'd never signed my passport. Bill's had expired, and the inspector hadn't noticed either mistake.

Our radio started working again. No one knew why. The men fished, but with our luck it was the only time of the year the restaurants and bars were closed.

Finally, we headed back to Miami. Bill cruised in circles looking for a bridge to go under. He tried a drawbridge, and now a second bent outrigger matched the first. We docked next to the Hard Rock Cafe, which was blasting loud music and in the Miami International Airport flight path.

We'd had beautiful weather for several days, but this last day there were 8-foot seas. We pounded along toward home. But the weather came as no surprise -- a black cat crossed my path that morning. Omen No. 5.

Ann Fletcher Simonds is a retired newspaper reporter and columnist, and a longtime resident of Cudjoe Key. Her column appears on Saturdays. Contact her at annsimonds@juno.com.