When Henrik and I first started talking with our friends and family about this trip, I would often get questions about how well I thought we would get along as well as comments ranging from “God, I would kill my husband (wife) before we even left Denver” to “How romantic!” to the in-between, “I hope you’ll always remember to take time for yourselves – maybe one of you gets a hotel room to yourself once a month.”
We do spend an incredible amount of time together and I think we’re both a little surprised at how well we are getting along. Maybe it’s a language thing, but it’s working well so far. You would think that with all of that time spent together, we would have some deep and quality conversations. Also, you would think that we would especially have quality conversations right after we escaped plunging to our fiery deaths on the road from Villamontes to Entre Rios – El Angosto in Bolivia (See Henrik’s post). Right you are.Here’s what we talked about:
H: What do you call a baby donkey?
K: Hmmm, I don’t know…a don…ke…tito. Hah, that makes me think of Don Quijote! Sorry, I don’t know. Oh, wait a minute, isn’t a donkey a bastard child between a horse and a….
H: No, no, no, that’s a mule. And I think it’s something really specific like the bastard child of a stallion with a…um…something…
K: Oh, so a donkey has donkey parents?
A few minutes pass:
K: Wait, what’s an ass then? A jackass? As in, “It’s a book, jackass” (another book reference. I crack my librarian-self up).
H: I think a jackass is another name for a mule.
A few more minutes pass.
H: Mules are infertile, right?
K: I don’t know – let’s google this when we get internet.
H: Yes, we should.
I’ll get back to you on what I find out.
Bonus points: what movie am I referring to in the title of this post?