B&B wanted so desperately to go in large part because you can swim with dolphins in a manner that makes you think you aren’t doing something appalling like swimming with them in a pool at a hotel (which Blonde confesses to doing once in Hawaii). You swim with them in a large netted section of the sea and it’s more fun than getting away with a fake tax deduction. Almost.
Perhaps swimming with the dolphins and our twice daily snorkeling outings gave us the idea that we’re more adventurous than we really are (right now Blonde is grumbling that we’re going to be staying in a 4, not 5, star hotel in Spain). Whatever our thinking, or lack thereof, we signed up for a zip line outing. Blonde has seen the lining of a lot of zippers so may have been confused as to what she signed up for and Brunette is scared of heights so all in all it was the usual well thought out decision.
The zip line was over a jungle canopy. If you read this blog frequently (and you should) you will expect this story to be about Blonde falling off the line and into the jungle. But it isn’t. It’s about Brunette getting a taxi on the zip line in Honduras.
As is customary when it comes to doing stupid things, Blonde went first. Preparations involved an explanation of how to move along and not die or, if you did die, how to do so in a way that did not inconvenience the zippees behind you. Then you were tied up by hot young jungle boys. (Others might refer to this as being helped into a special harness by the staff but where’s the fun in that?)
Blonde required a heavy duty strap to keep her ass suspended then took a breath, emitted a shriek and zipped away. There were 13 “stations” along the line where you would land (thud) and then be reattached to a new line. We were warned that a rather hostile monkey hung out at one of the stations so we shouldn’t try to pet him. Seriously, someone would want to pet a pissy wild monkey in a jungle?
Blonde got to the first station, was reattached, and so it went. Unfortunately, although it was reasonably enjoyable, it wasn’t as much fun as anticipated. It was more like the kind of thing you do so you can tell other people and sound cool. At least to yourself.
As she zipped along Blonde pondered how Brunette would fare. A fear of heights and wimpy upper body strength didn’t seem to be the tickets to success but stopping to check on someone is not exactly encouraged or possible (or in Blonde’s nature).
Blonde got to the end of the line (love that!) and was unattached (preferred state) and waiting to take Brunette’s picture as she sailed to the finish line. And waiting. The others from our group arrived one by one and no Brunette. Blonde began to worry that Brunette had been assaulted by the pesky monkey (that’s how she ended up with 4 kids so it was possible) or that she was now a snack in the jungle food chain.
When it got to the point of no longer merely being a mystery but was classified as an actual concern, Blonde suddenly heard giggles approaching and knew Brunette couldn’t be far behind. And she wasn’t. But she had someone behind her – her “taxi” driver.
Brunette had managed to get to a couple stations on her own and then decided that she wasn’t going to do this scary shit and wouldn’t budge. You may know how dauntingly stubborn small people can be. One of the staff at the station where she announced her intention to no longer proceed called for a taxi for her.
Turns out that in this case the “taxi” was one of the hot young men who tied us up earlier. Pint-sized Brunette was hurtling to the finish line with a handsome, muscular, grinning Black man wrapped around her. You go girl!
That’s the back-up plan for people who are too scared to continue or smart enough to know it’s the back-up plan. Brunette has wanted to take taxis ever since but none of the subsequent experiences have given her the same joy.
Perhaps that explains why she thinks her sister should get a job as a taxi dispatcher in the jungle and direct all taxis to Brunette.
Or at least get a job doing something.