George & Wendy Show

Wendy Parker

Notes on (barely) reaching new heights

| November 07, 2012

“Nice. You go on and laugh your fool head off. It’ll be sooo hilarious when I break every bone in my body bouncing down the side of this monolith.”

“I’m sorry, but if you could see your face you’d know why I’m laughing.”

“Yes, because seeing your wife in mortal danger is completely funny.”

“You’re not in mortal danger. We’re not even 200 feet up. If your little eyebrows get any higher on your forehead, they’re going to disappear.”

“I’m leaving. Enjoy your traction.”

“Hang on, hang on. Just look out over this way. The lights are coming on. It’s really pretty.”

I managed to look where he was pointing and yes, it was pretty, but not pretty enough to make me forget I was going to piss my pants from fear. He took eleven million pictures (that may be a slight exaggeration, but it seemed like that many) and we started down. I opted to crab-crawl, taking my chances on touching a scorpion or sticking my hand into a wombat hole for the comfort of feeling as much of the surface of the earth against my body as I could. Little children were cartwheeling down the side close to us and some complete idiot was riding a bike down. I didn’t let these unnatural fruitcakes deter my crawl. I was going to make it all the way to the bottom without killing myself, and pride was not a consideration. Nine hours (15 minutes in not-paralyzed-by-fear time) later, we made it back to the truck and he was still laughing at me.

“I learned something new about you today. After 17 years, I learned something I didn’t know.”

“Believe me, it was a revelation to me too. It’s a damn good thing I don’t have to climb up anything to eat. I’d starve to death.”

“You did good, babe. And the pictures are priceless.”

“Whatever. Could you please stop laughing long enough to drive us back to somewhere flat?”