A friend recently told me a story about a trip to the lakes of North Carolina with her husband and two sons. They were set to meet her sister’s family at an Airbnb and spend the week boating, fishing, grilling chicken, and basking in familial bliss.

As she recalled the events of that week, all I could picture was Chevy Chase and Beverly D’Angelo in the Vacation movies. And I thought, This was my life growing up. This is my life now. And it’s likely the life of many women whose husbands are sure everything is going to be okay–and why are you always worrying?

Trip preparations began weeks ahead, when they pulled into a dealership to buy a 15-foot non-motorized fishing boat. It would be strapped to the roof of their van for the 10-hour drive. Immediately, Allie protested. “The boat is as long as our car. What are you thinking?”

Oh, he was thinking. He was thinking that in life, he’d gotten away with a lot–sloppy planning that had somehow never ended in disaster. He was one of those men who skate by with things half-cocked, two screws loose at the helm. The kind of guy who treats good luck like a skill.

The problem is, when you live by lucky breaks long enough, you start to believe they’re a valid form of preparation. And you assume life just rolls this way for everyone–without diligence or precision.

Speaking of wind, her husband had been a surfer his whole life. He’d probably strapped a board to every moving vehicle imaginable–bikes, Jeeps, golf carts. He’d no doubt ridden out rogue waves and risky storms more times than anyone should. Maybe he did have nine lives.

The problem was, Allie never knew which life he was on. Six? Seven? Or–most terrifying–eight?

That boat was lashed to the van, and for ten straight hours it whistled like a freight train. It was a wind whistle and a gas guzzler, and every time he slammed on the brakes–which was often–the boat lunged forward.

I can see her in the passenger seat: wide-eyed and alert the entire way. No dozing off. No reading her book club pick. Every pit stop was a chance to regroup in the corner of a dilapidated gas station, guzzling a Coke and steadying herself against the bathroom door.

It rained all day. When the highway began winding through the mountains, there were no guardrails. He was speeding. Spray from the tires blurred the windshield, and the wipers–long overdue for replacement–were barely hanging on.

When they finally pulled into the driveway of the rental home, she wanted to drop to her knees, arms outstretched, and pray to Mecca. Or someone. Or Anyone.

They did use the new boat–for short fishing trips–but opted to rent a pontoon for leisure. On the first afternoon out, a storm began to gather. Allie called out to her husband, who was piloting the boat, that it was time to head back.

He was incredulous. (A storm? Really? We just got going.)

When a bolt of lightning struck too close for comfort, she marched up to him and said if he didn’t turn around immediately, she would duct-tape him to the deck and drive the boat back herself.

The night before the return trip home, Allie tossed and turned, dreading the long descent down the mountain with the boat on the roof once again. Mr. Kumbaya, meanwhile, slept like a monk in a symphony of crickets.

This wasn’t a vacation.

It was a marital endurance test.

Allie lived to tell the tale. Maybe some of you cool, collected types think she overreacted. But not me.

My father once nearly took our family over Niagara Falls in a motorboat. No one with a nickel wedged into the engine to keep it engaged has any business going anywhere near the Niagara River.

But I lived to tell about it, too.

Maybe there are people who really are lucky. Maybe because they lack the fear the rest of us carry, they bring magic and adventure into our lives. They are the risk-takers, the spontaneous souls, the believers in smooth landings.

But more often than not, those men marry sane, anxious women–women who quietly steer the ship toward safer roads with actual guardrails. Because sometimes, what looks like a lake house getaway is actually a hostage situation with potato salad.