This contest is seriously forcing me to post way beyond my usual slackerly comfort level. However, about an hour ago Erik went out to measure the snow and it was at 8.5 inches and hasn't let up. He wanted to head up to Alta to go snowboarding. Alta is a ski resort that only allows skiers. Which means, we lug our snowboards up the mountain ourselves and ride down. Only to turn around and hike back up the mother huggin mountain. I've done this with him once. Okay, fine, twice. And it's EXHAUSTING! Not only am I decked out in my snowboarding boots and full on gear, I'm carrying my freaking heavy snowboard, UP A MOUNTAIN, where there is NO AIR TO BREATHE.
So I politely declined today's invitation stating I had a post to write. For Carrie's ongoing contest for an amazingly generous prize which I'm not going to tell you because I already have once and it's too good to repeat for you lazy lazies.
This time she had Ken from Ken-inatractor guest post for the next question.
ever been on a trip or vacation that while things appeared to be going
badly, something happened that changed your mind, from worst trip ever
to, meh....this wasn't so bad?
And my answer is yes. Yes I have. End post.
Even though it wasn't an open-ended question, I have a feeling simply answering yes wouldn't count as an entry. So let me elaborate.
I grew up in Canada. Where there is no Disneyworld or Land. When my parents informed the family we would be moving to Florida, they bribed us into submission by saying we would all be able to go to Disneyworld.
For the next year before the move, I fell asleep dreaming of our new home in exotic Florida where we would be living in a hut on the beach, sleeping in hammocks strung up between two palm trees and being serenaded to sleep by the melodic cacophony of toucans and parrots.
Tampa shanked that dream to death nearly the moment we arrived. There were palm trees at least. And I still had the promise of Disneyworld.
The day finally arrived where we all piled into the family van. All 6 of us. Oh wait, Gram was with us. All 7 of us. In a van. In Florida. With no air conditioning. While we drove for over an hour to Orlando.
But we made it. Dad got us parked and we all stumbled our way to the shuttle that would take us to the tram that would take us to the gate where we waited in line to pay a month of my Dad's salary to get us all in to the happiest place on earth.
One by one we push through the turn-stile. We walk through. I look down Main St. and with heart pounding I gaze at Cinderella's castle for the first time in my life, convinced I just may die from excitement. With eyes fixed on the glorious, majestic spires, I start to make my way down Main St. in a dazed, dream-like state.
And then I hear it.
The wet splatter of vomit hitting cobblestone.
I whip around just in time to witness my youngest sister, doubled over, retching up another round of her breakfast.
We all shuffle back through the turn-stile, to the gate, back on the tram, that took us to the shuttle that dumped us off at the parking lot where we all piled into the stifling van for the dejected hour ride back home.
There's no "meh, that wasn't so bad". Because it was. This is the end of the story. But the prompt reminded me of this family adventure just in time for Thanksgiving dinner at the parentals. Where my youngest sister will be.
I think I'll take her a barf bag with mickey ears.