Entertainment, in its full glory
Or, late night Canyon note, I'm not sure which is a better title.
Evenings are always entertaining here. I suspect that's mostly because it's cooler, we're all relaxed, we've finished another day on the river, and there's chance of falling off the ground and drowning. Or something like that.
After dinner, we had dessert, complete with ginger whipped cream. Didn't know there was such a thing as ginger infused whipped cream? Well, apparently neither did Justin, who lifted his whipped cream covered dessert to his face to smell the whipped cream up close.
Only to have the whole dish upended into his face by a fellow guide, to the merriment of those close by.
Yeah, lots of merriment.
And a little mortification on my part. Well, a lot actually. Wanna hear why?
Well, we were at Baste Camp, the hot hot hot dune beach, where we arrived early to set up and camp. As is a trend Kris and I seem to be starting, the trend of bathing every other day, I went ahead and had my muddy river, freezing cold, fully blinding-white naked bath in the river this evening. And, as with the whole trip, I didn't put on any underwear when I went to put on my evening wear.
No underwear? Huh?
Well, all my underwear is cotton (for health reasons, of course). When cotton gets wet, it stays soaked for a long while, especially when it's sitting between my bottom and the raft for a long part of the day. Wet underwear throughout the day? No, thanks. Having talked about cotton underwear to several other people on the trip, I'm not the only one with such great insights.
So, no underwear when I pulled on my skorts (shorts with an outer skirt). I thought nothing of this as I sat down after dinner with my plate in one hand and drink in the other.
I continued to think nothing of my underwearless state as I eat my dinner.
And I still continued to think nothing of my underwearless state as Tracy came to the front of the group, turned around to talk to us, summarized the day, and told us about tomorrow. She does that every day, why would that bring underwear to mind?
It wouldn't.
Sliding down the beach's dune face, giving oneself a wedgie, however, would cause underwear to come to mind.
Not only underwear, but said lack of underwear.
By the time I realized what was happening, and looked down, my hooch was in its full glory saying "Hi!" to anyone down the hill from me looking back up.
Say, Tracy.
I jumped up quickly, completely mortified that I had just flashed my hooch at the river guide, pulled the wedgie out, and slunk off to the dish line, praying that Tracy hadn't indeed, caught me.
She talked to me again later that night with a straight face. I can only hope.
After I pull out of this mortified state that is.