So what if geysers don't move me - there are baby animalz in this country that are waiting to be hugged! Shaggy Icelandic horses, fluffy sheep, lovely fat cows - hundreds of them, all by the side of the road. So what if there's a razorwire fence? So what if I'm not supposed to climb it? People of Iceland, your fences are meaningless. Your fences are child's play.
The only thing that got me more jazzed than the prospect of seeing puffins was a ride through the countryside on an Icelandic horse. Fauxhawk, who had never ridden a horse, was somewhat reluctant to join me.
"Don't worry, they're really gentle! You'll be fine! It's going to be great! HORSES!"
"Exactly how long is this ride?"
"Two hours!" I chirped. "One hour is not nearly enough! We'll just get started and then have to turn back!"
The Hawk groaned, but I dismissed his dread. We were going to have a National Velvet Experience, damn it to hell. Plus, I had already plunked down a wad of cold hard cash to have Victoria the Teenage Viking Princess guide us through the woods.
We had a moment with our horses. This was before shit got hectic and the Hawk started hating on the animals of Iceland.
We were off - across meadows of knee-deep grass and into the woods. We waded through streams, ducked under canopies of trees, and picked up steam on the trail. The Icelandic horse is famous for its unique gait, which is so smooth and soft that it's like sinking into a sofa. Lost in a reverie, I failed to notice the commotion behind me.
When I turned around, Fauxhawk was already picking himself up off the trail and extracting gravel from his bloodied hands. His riderless horse wandered off, looking twitchy and nonplussed. Victoria the Teenage Viking Princess was not a bundle of sympathy.
"GRAB YOUR HORSE!" she snapped. "WHAT HAPPENED?"
"I don't know...he just...took off...and then dumped me."
"JUST LET HIM FOLLOW ME. DO NOTHING."
So Fauxhawk got back on the horse, and I brought up the rear feeling intense guilt. I could tell by the set of his back that the Hawk wanted to strangle the horse and then use its tail to strangle Victoria. I was not so sure that I wouldn't meet a similar fate.
After what seemed like an eternity, we returned to the corrale and left Victoria with Satan's Steed.
"You did beautifully!" I said, attempting to ameliorate the situation. "The horse probably noticed you had never ridden before...maybe he was taking advantage a little bit? Anyway, I'm so sorry I made you go..."
"WHAT TYPE OF ANIMAL DOES THAT?" Fauxhawk spat with outraged indignation.
"Ummm...I don't know..." This was not going well.
"A PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE LITTLE FUCKFACE, THAT'S WHAT."`
At that point, dear readers, I had to go into the bathroom and laugh into a towel. This is what we do for love.
* * *
Later that night, I made another fatal mistake.
"What is beesting?" I ask, pointing to the dessert menu.
"It's what the baby cow drinks, before the milk," said the waitress.
"Oh," I said. "OK."
Then, thirty seconds later:
"..before the milk..." I repeated slowly, the words sinking in. "Jesus GOD, did I just order a big bowl of COLOSTRUM?"
Yes. Yes I did. I ordered a big bowl of colostrum and it arrived masquarading as creme brûlée. My friends, no amount of "rhubarb caramel glaze" was going to make that shizz something you would ever want near your piehole.
And guess who made me eat it?
Mr. Just Des(s)erts.