Her yacht needed my bathtub

Her profile said she owned a yacht. Every photo showed her holding champagne beside a white boat, so when she suggested a nautical first date, I pictured a marina. She met me at a cafe carrying a plastic storage bin. Inside was a remote-controlled yacht about the length of a sandwich. “The photographs were technically accurate,” she said. Honestly, I could have laughed and stayed. I'm a simple guy. Tiny boat, big commitment to camera angles. But then she unfolded a harbor agreement. She needed access to my bathtub for winter docking. In exchange, I could call myself commodore, but not captain. Captain was her title. Guests would need written permission to use the shower. I said my bathroom wasn't available. She asked whether I even supported women with ambitions. Then she put the yacht in the cafe's water pitcher. The barista immediately made her remove it. She pointed at me and said, “Tell her we're members.” Of what? The sink?