Will and I had an awesome weekend in Yosemite, particularly on Sunday with our climbing guide Nick. I think he appreciated the fact that we know how to tie proper knots and how to belay safely, because apparently most of his time is usually spent belaying hyperactive kids over and over while their parents just chill. To be fair, I was once that kid. I have proof:
The thing I am not good at, however, is remembering to put on my shoes. Three times in a row I tied in to the rope and did all my safety checks before one of the boys made fun of me and then reminded me to put on my shoes. I dunno, it’s just not obvious for some reason. I blame my childhood spend running around barefoot in the tiny little beach town I grew up in.
The badass arm wrap on my right forearm is covering a first degree burn the size of a bagel bite (I literally cannot think of any comparison more appropriate). In a classic Margaux move, I forgot to put the cheese on the pizza before I put it into the oven, and thus had to stick my arm into the oven. Because obviously, that’s the best solution. Being domestic and unemployed is harder than it sounds.