For details on Totally Awkward Tuesday, go check out Tova's blog. I send you there weekly, so you should have the hang of this by now.
My family and I took vacations each summer when I was growing up, and one of our favorite places to visit was Colorado.
(This could be because Colorado is a mere 8 hour car ride with my siblings, as opposed to 32 hours if we ventured to Florida.)
So, one year my family goes to Colorado and decides to make a stop at Pikes Peak. Ya know, tall mountain, grandeur, etc. etc.
I was not entirely thrilled.
It wasn't that the mountain was high. I love roller coasters, I don't have a huge problem with tall buildings. The problem I have with mountain is that it is a MOUNTAIN.
There are no highly trained engineers checking the road each morning to make sure the ride is safe. There are no crazy ridiculous building safety standards assuring me that the mountain is structurally sound.
And worst of all:
THERE ARE NO GUARDRAILS.
(I still to this day have nightmares of driving off the side of a mountain and plummeting to my death.)
So there I am, trudging up the side of this damn mountain with my parents having conversations like this:
Mom: BILL! WATCH THE ROAD!
Dad: I am watching the road. Where does it LOOK like I'm looking?
Mom: Well, you're singing along to the radio!
Dad: Yes, and that involves my ears. Not my EYES.
Mom: Well, you need to concentrate and I don't see how you can be focused when the radio is - LOOK OUT! OH MY GAWWWDDDD!! DON'T HIT THAT CAR!
Dad: I swear to God, if you don't stop screaming you're going to cause an accident.
Mom: If you keep singing and looking out the window at the damn scenery we're all going to end up dead!
Dad: Do you want to drive!!!????
Dad: Then BE QUIET!!! The radio is the last thing you need to worry about distracting me when you're nagging.
Mom: Watch the road. The guide says sometimes mountain goats will just pop up out of nowhere.
You get the idea.
Needless to say, I was ancy about climbing this mountain one little steep incline at a time. It seemed unnecessary when I could just look at pictures of the mountain from safely on the ground below.
My mom was no dummy, and in an effort to keep us kids excited about the trip to the top, she promised us we could all buy our favorite kind of candy when we got there.
I had my mind set on a big, fat Hershey bar.
At the top of the mountain, I was surprised at how many people were there. We were apparently not the only families that were attempting this adventure.
Everywhere I looked parents were holding on their kids, screaming at them not to get too close to the edge of the mountain. And every single kid looked miserable.
I made my way into the gift shop, looking for my Hershey bar I had so bravely earned.
As I browsed the candy section, I felt a presence behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I recognized my Dad's jacket.
He was here to buy my candy!
I whirled around quickly and gave my father a gigantic hug while bouncing up and down singing something to the effect of,
"It's CANDY TIME! It's CANDY TIME! Are you ready to buy me some CAAANDDYYYY????"
Right then, out of the folds of my Dad's jacket, I saw my sister across the gift shop. She was showing my Dad some postcards of the mountain.
What was my Dad doing OVER THERE?
I looked up very slowly to see a strange man person in my Dad's coat standing over me, smiling awkwardly.
This was not my Dad.
This man looked like Woody Harrelson. On a bad hair day. After a night of snorting Tobasco sauce.
I backed away and made a tremendously pathetic attempt to scream, but nothing came out.
I think Woody offered to help me find my Dad, but I was too busy running across the gift shop to pay attention.
Quickly I ran over to my (real) dad and told him I wanted to leave right now. He wasn't interested.
Ever the clever child, I then located my mom and told her my lungs were hurting from a lack of oxygen to my brain.
That worked. And away we went, back down the mountain.
I never got my Hershey bar.