Cheek-Slappingly Funny

(My husband, my brother, and I are about two-thirds of our way into a ten-mile hike. Things have not been going according to plan; for one, my husband is hobbling along on a sprained ankle he got from a nasty slip a couple of miles back. As we were too far in to turn back — the journey back would have been all uphill — and he would probably have to stay in the wilderness overnight if one of us left to get help, which he resolutely decided against, the only thing to do was to keep going. We haven’t seen many people, though we are certainly not alone; a lovely swarm of mosquitos is graciously accompanying us every step of the way. Of course, I forgot the bug repellent in the car. I’m keenly aware of the time I told my parents to expect our arrival at the car park, the fact that we will probably get there at least two hours after that time, after dark, and how worried they’ll be because of it. On top of all that, at this present moment, we appear to have lost the trail — for the second time on this whole journey — even though I was sure we’d stayed on the path.)

Husband: “Look, everything’s going to be fine. We’ll just head back the way we came, and I’m sure we’ll find a fork we missed somewhere, and we’ll pick up the trail again.”

(We turn around, my brother leading the way. He quite sensibly wants to get out of here as fast as possible and walks quickly on ahead. In contrast, my rational brain decides it has reached its limit of what it can handle today and decides now is a good time to take a time-out.)

Me: *hyperventilating* “This can’t be happening. How far back do we have to go before we find the trail? It’s already almost dark, my parents are probably s***ting themselves, and there’s no reception. What if–“

Husband: *grabbing me by the shoulders and turning me around* “Sweetie, calm down. We’re gonna find the trail, and we’re gonna find our way out.”

Me: “But–“

Husband: *firmly* “We’re not gonna die, okay? We–“

Me: *slaps him*

Husband: *blinks*

Me: *realises* “There… No, there was a mosquito. I’m sorry! You had a mosquito on your cheek!”

(I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation.)

Husband: *dryly* “Well, gee. If I’d known that was all you needed to feel better. Here, wanna slap the other cheek, too?” 

Me: “No, no, it was a mosquito, I swear! There really was a mosquito!” *laughing uncontrollably*

Husband: *smirks* “Uh-huh, sure. Whatever you say, dear.”

(We arrived at the car park several hours later, well after dark, to the immense relief of my parents. My husband’s ankle took some recovering; it was pretty swollen for a day or two. On the bright side, he now gets to brag about the time he hiked six miles on a sprained ankle. He also gets to regale the admittedly hilarious account of how HE had to calm ME down only to get brutally slapped for his valiant efforts. The honest truth, though, there really was a mosquito.)

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