Remember when I told you that I got lost on the way to a major national monument, and took 45 minutes to go the last kilometer on foot, and that I wouldn’t tell you the story without beer? I totally lied, because I looked at the pictures again. Seriously, how could I resist this:
“It’s not that cold,” she said. That’s glacial meltwater, but she was comparing it to Lake Superior, which hovers at a cool 4 degrees Celsius. I guess that when you get that close to freezing, the feet can’t tell the difference.
“I will acknowledge,” he said, grudgingly, “that it is very, very, very, very, [he went on like this for some time]… OK.”
“Would it be better than OK, if we hadn’t gotten lost in the swamp and bitten by mosquitoes and gotten our feet wet?” I asked.
He looked at me. “But we did all those things. So that question is not relevant.”
Lake Louise. Lost. In the swamp. Between the parking lot and the lake. With a snarly near-teen. Go me.
Moral of the story: Sometimes it’s best just to follow the crowd.