I’m giving myself fifteen minutes to write this bitch. Aaaand, go.
The last time we went to Laurel Caverns, Chooch was 4 and peed in his pants. Somewhere in there, we also thought Henry had perished, got a flat tire, and I hated Gene and Boots candy store. It was a pretty action-packed day.
Considering I promised Henry he could have a relaxing weekend doing whatever he wanted since he went to Warped Tour with me two days prior, I kind of hoped that we could just go to the caverns and act like a normal loving family.
But Chooch and I were really hyper and literally kept fake-beating each other up. He was trying to climb up my torso at one point, in the bowels of the caverns and I kept flicking him in the head when he wasn’t looking, or shaking him by the shoulders. Henry didn’t seem charmed by any this.
The tour hadn’t even started yet and look at that grimace. You’d think he would be excited since he knows so much shit about rocks and stone, but I guess it must suck for a hotdogging SERVICE man to have to listen to a FEMALE tour guide talk about everything he already knows.
Chooch didn’t swear once and that’s all I can ask for, really. Stifling himself for 55 minutes beneath the earth made him shoot off obscenities like a cannon on the car ride home, though. Good job for teaching him that shit, Henry.
This isn’t just because of the flash. He almost always looks at me like this. I wasn’t allowed to walk behind him during the tour because I was being too “immature.” WHATEVER THAT MEANS.
Our tour guide HATED THE WHOLE GROUP and we actually really weren’t that bad of a group, just overpopulated. She was so joyless and bland, and kept making idle threats when people wouldn’t stop chatting with each other.
“I am NOT going to lose my voice today,” she said 11 different times. (I counted.)
I still thanked her when the tour was over though, because I’m a suck up.
This picture might not look like much, but it’s really special to me because I MADE THAT LIGHT COME ON. There is an entire passage filled with sound-activated lights, I guess to break up the monotony of being constantly told to shut up by the tour guide, and allowing us to actually exercise our vocal rights. Everyone was yelling and clapping, some people were woofing and making me roll me eyes, but Chooch of all people was doing nothing.
He picked THAT MOMENT to be silent.
“Chooch, yell ‘Jonny Craig,'” I coaxed.
“NO,” Henry refuted.
So I did it, nice and loud, shouted, “JONNY CRAIG!” with all this passion and jubilation. I thought Henry was going to push me over a ravine.
There was no one hot in our tour group. This made me feel bored at times. I wanted Chooch to ask if we were going to get to see the basement, but he didn’t get it and kept shouting to me, “WHAT!? WHAT ABOUT THE BASEMENT?! WHERE IS THE BASEMENT!?” and I was just like, “God, nevermind, you suck.”
The first thing Henry did when we got home yesterday was Google what the guide was telling us about the bats just to prove that she was wrong about what’s forcing them into extinction. Maybe he’ll want me to write a letter to Laurel Caverns on his behalf.