Mono vs. Cat.
My wife and I got married on a 46 foot cat charter in the BVI's, on Jost Van Dyke. I thought she was a sailing gal but lo, not to be. Fine on a cat, not on a mono. I wanted to retire on a nice big mono-hull, she wanted a big-ass house that wasn't a sailboat, much less a catamaran. So that's what she got, and I got a much smaller boat. I found out that when the mono-hull heels she goes catatonic, (see the pun, cat-atonic, as opposed to catamaran...) totally bat-**** paranoid, hanging on the high side for dear life, scared out of her wits and not copos mentis enough to listen as I try to reason with her; relax, let gravity work, sit down in the pocket of the cockpit and enjoy a nicely designed boat with far more weight below than there is above as she cuts a fine arc through the waves. The Krackin is not going to reach out and snag you as we pass it by! She cannot grasp the logic of a sailboat. Ergo, she cannot conquer her fear. I no longer even try. But you know what, that's OK. So she has her toy, a new Mustang convertible and I have a nicely turned out Catalina 30 which I sail happily all over Georgian Bay by myself, or with a few select friends. When life serves you lemons, make margaritas!