Me and Holly went to Atlanta last weekend for our 5th Anniversary. Yay for us! We've wanted to return there for several years now to visit the Aquarium, and when the opportunity presented itself, we jumped.
Our Hotel was only a block from the MARTA so we parked our car for the entire weekend and went all over the city on the train. It was about a 22 minute ride to Peachtree Street where we would exit for the Aquarium. Then we walked for about 10 - 15 minutes through Centennial Park to the Aquarium. Holly and I strolled hand in hand enjoying the nice weather and the beautiful city view. In our bliss we didn't notice what lie ahead. I was surveying the possible lines to purchase entrance tickets when it happened - a sharp jerk on my arm. The very arm where I had been holding Holly's hand. What happened? We were in the midst of a deep conversation about the whale shark we were about to behold when Holly unknowingly stepped in someone else's vomit. It looked as though someone had poured out a gallon of baby spit up, but chunkier. She was wearing flip-flops. Flip-flops that have no traction. The flip-flops that had traction were tucked safely in her suitcase, in our hotel room a good 40 minutes away. She didn't wear them because they give her blisters between her toes. Now, doing the splits in someone else's vomit, blisters didn't seem to matter. Two friendly men helped me pick Holly (7 1/2 months pregnant) up, her black gauchos spotted with up-chuck belonging to someone we didn't know. We made a quick decision to purchase tickets and enter the aquarium where Holly immediately went into the bathroom to properly wash the regurgitation from her pants. When she emerged, there was no barf visible to the naked eye, but I could not get close to her for the entire day.
When we returned to our hotel, we took a cut-through from the sidewalk to a corner entrance. We had done this several times with no consequence. This instance proved much more eventful. As we wandered onto the lush grass, laughing about Holly having to wear vomit pants all day, I heard a very loud, ominous sound. It seemed to encompass us, and I could not find it's source. As I examined the horizon line for possible danger, I spotted a man with a monkey wrench fastened tightly to a fire hydrant. As quickly as he could, he spun the monkey wrench to open the water valve, allowing thousands of gallons of sparkling H20 to come barreling in our direction. I looked deep into the oncoming flood, grabbed Holly by the hand, and jerked her arm in a similar manner to the way she had jerked mine as she dangled uncontrollably in a stranger's purge earlier in the day. I moved speedily out of harms way, Holly in-tow, and quickly spun to thank the kind gentleman for not noticing two people who he almost rolled into the woods with his toy water cannon. He apologized. As Holly and I reached our second floor room, we glanced out the window to see the massive waterfall that reached 20 feet into the air. We were both thankful that our close encounter with that same waterfall did not end in tragedy, as would have been likely for any "normal" couple.
All in all, it was a pretty normal day for us. After all the excitement we settled in for a nice nap. Oh, and the vomit pants, Holly put them back on and wore them to dinner that night. Just as pretty as she pleased.
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