My husband and I are in Seattle for a mini vacation. He was smart enough to know my head would explode if I remained in the bowels of St. Louis much longer, so he planned this trip. I suspect it’s because he knows I love Starbucks and Frasier, both of which are located here.
So far, I haven’t found Frasier’s apartment, but we still have a few more days. (Now that I’m in Seattle, I really do hear the blues a callin’, tossed salad and scrambled eggs.)
Since we are
lazy and getting fat from all the food and alcohol nature lovers, we decided to go for a hike on one of the many trails in Seattle. I scoured the internet for the easiest trail I could find and off we went in our sweet rental car.
Did I upgrade to the 2013 Hyundai Elantra because I’m a baller? Yes, yes I did.
Instead of commenting on the beauty of the building, my husband commented on it by stating “And that’s where the rapes happen. It’s like the love shack, but a lot darker.”
I will never be able to listen to that song again.
After I recovered from his…ahem…insightful comment, we continued the walk and found a small waterfall where we stopped to take a photo. As we were leaving, we noticed a beautiful bench carved out of wood.
Walking up to admire the handiwork, my husband saw this and made the following comment:
“That Daniel is a real dick.”
Yes, yes he is.
We then proceeded to continue down the trail where I ultimately had to water some of the plants in the woods. I’m such a humanitarian. That has nothing to do with the story, but I felt compelled to share it with you.
Sidenote: Don’t slam two bottles of water and a Starbucks coffee before going on a nature walk.
As we continued on our hike, my dear husband commented on the beauty of the trees. “Isn’t it cool how the trees are so tall and go up and then umbrella out with branches at the top?”
“That’s called a canopy,” I responded, offering him a nugget of knowledge.
“I didn’t ask for a f@#$ing nature lesson,” he smirked.
We continued on our walk, discussing what to do during our remaining days in the rainy city. He suggested taking a ferry boat up to Vancouver.
“I don’t think you need a passport to go to Canada. It’s Canada. It’s not a real country. Plus, we’re taking a ferry.”
I wasn’t able to get out of him why the mode of transportation into a new country mattered, but apparently it did, at least to Matt Newlin.
The hike was several miles but after about 2 miles we were
bored and sick of hiking so overwhelmed with nature we needed a break…and a margarita.
We learned a lot that day. Matt learned tree terminology and I learned never to go into a dark shack with my husband or with a guy named Daniel. He’s a dick.