Surviving the Water Ride from Hell
I was none the worse for wear, save for the fact that my entire
left side, butt cheek included, was completely soaked. I laughed
like a hyena as a cascade of water hit The Girl in the face while
at the same time The Boy was screaming bloody murder behind me and
The Husband was clutching at The Boy’s shirt from his
water-drenched perch behind him.
Surviving the Water Ride from Hell
I was none the worse for wear, save for the fact that my entire left side, butt cheek included, was completely soaked. I laughed like a hyena as a cascade of water hit The Girl in the face while at the same time The Boy was screaming bloody murder behind me and The Husband was clutching at The Boy’s shirt from his water-drenched perch behind him.
Was it worth it? You bet. I’d conquered my fear, after 30 years.
Splash Mountain and The Matterhorn were my nemesis during the many trips to Disneyland. Last time, The Girl and The Husband, I later learned, were attempting to distract me with shiny objects and Mickey Mouse shaped ice cream and balloons while going past Frontier Land’s version of Grand Rapids, in an attempt to later lull me into going on, unsuspecting of what was sure to be a total disaster once I realized I was strapped into the Water Ride From Hell.
It worked. I’d be happily walking along, eating ice cream mouse ears and clutching a Mickey balloon, oblivious to all the shrieks and whooshing water. I never did see them winking at each other, as The Husband forked over a Mickey Mouse shaped Rice Krispy Treat. This was awesome. I was a kid again, wearing a Mickey ears hat, and not caring that I now had chocolate all over my face. Everyone else did, too.
I was happy, and got careless. I rode the Water Ride From Hell, and with each waterfall, forgot that it was a family theme park as some of the most un-kid friendly expletives flew out of my mouth. Luckily no one could hear them, what with all the shrieks and whooshing water.
One morning during our latest adventure, we decide we should get to the park as soon as it opens. They (The Girl and The Husband. The Boy is like me; happy with dry clothes and my stomach where it belongs.) are already starting in about why I don’t go on the “scary” rides, just as we are passing The Matterhorn.
“Okay! Fine! Let’s go,” I hope to shut them up. Besides, we haven’t eaten breakfast yet. No danger of projectile pancakes.
They look at each other as if I said I would juggle cats while swallowing fire.
I suddenly remember my sister trying to haul my mother onto that ride back in ’75. Mom was an even worse wuss than me, when it came to anything moving more than 3 mph. Somehow, Suzie managed to get her to do it. Maybe for the same reason The Girl could get me to do this now. There is no way that I am going to let my kid see what a complete coward I am. Keeping in mind, since back in ’75, this was also the scariest ride at the park, fears seem to have a way of multiplying by the amount of years that you’ve had them.
Also, keep in mind, that if I go, The Boy has to go, too.
More kid un-friendly phrases, and a wrenched wrist later, I did it! And so did The Boy. Luckily, he is smiling. There, all done. Can we move on now?
The Husband: “I think that was really great! I’m so proud of you. I would look up to you for doing something you’re afraid of.”
The Girl: “That was great! You know, Splash Mountain is really cool. You’d love that, now!”
Me: Glaring at them both. (What do you mean you would. Didn’t I just?)
We agree that Splash Mountain can wait until after breakfast and a few less scary shows or rides.
Suddenly, it’s 9:30 at night, dark and the fireworks are about to start. I find myself standing in line at Water Ride From Hell II. The Husband is attempting to give me a play by play of how it goes so I won’t kill him when it’s over.
Cresting the hill before the 50 foot drop, an overhead display of fireworks distracts me for a split-second, which is all the time The Girl needs to duck down and leave me completely vulnerable to the onslaught of water that drenches my entire left side. At the bottom, I am laughing hysterically, and The Husband fears his own death as he mistakes my laughter for crying.
The Girl says, “Okay, Space Mountain next!”
Not so fast, little girl. I need whooshing water to mask my colorful vocabulary. And besides, The Boy and I still have another 30 years to get ready for that one.
