When I was a little girl, all I dreamed about was traveling the world with a strong, rugged man by my side. But now that I’ve found that man, frankly, I’m exhausted by all these globe-spanning adventures he’s been dragging me on.
Have you ever found yourself braving the frigid winds of the Himalayas, fleeing from machine gun-toting Sherpas? Been there, done that. Have you ever been used as living bait to lure a cunning bunch of international terrorists into an elaborate trap? I have. Five times. Have you had a mummified corpse leap out at you while stuck in an ancient underground temple? I have, twice. This is all getting so boring.
When I first met Reginald Pelt, I found him intriguing. It’s not often that a fedora-sporting, vest-wearing adventurer stops in at the Berwyn Ridge Mall Hot Topic where you’ve been manager for the past two years. He was in a rush, and asked to buy a spiked bracelet. I said we have plenty of spiked bracelets. Little did I know he needed it to slice open the throat of a mysterious henchman who had been pursuing him after spotting him in line at the Panda Express.
Next thing I know, we’re fleeing immortal Nazis in a stolen Honda, and they’re firing at us, and we’re fighting off people leaping onto and off of our car, and yadda yadda yadda, we end the day scaling the rungs of the Eiffel Tower. It seemed cool at the time, I guess.
Don’t get me wrong; it’s all very thrilling at first. But once you survive one face-melting religious artifact, surviving the next three face-melting religious artifacts just feels, I don’t know, passé.
Nowadays, when I get kidnapped and tied to a stake, I think to myself, “Wow, real creative.” Whenever I get chloroformed and wake up confined in a metal room on a nuclear submarine somewhere in the mid-Atlantic, I couldn’t care less. Whenever I ever find myself dangling by the tips of my fingers from the edge of a Hong Kong skyscraper, I just sort of shrug my shoulders and wait for Reginald to save me, like he always does. It all just gets tiring after a while, you know? Couldn’t we maybe just grab a slice of Sbarro for once?
I love Reginald, I do. And I know he loves me, otherwise he wouldn’t keep untying me from all of these bombs all the time. But sometimes, when I find myself in the depths of the Vatican fending off man-sized spiders, I imagine how exciting it would be to just listen to Taylor Swift in the mall parking garage, unwrapping an Egg McMuffin and drinking my Starbucks chai latte. Honestly, I don’t know how much longer I can hide my boredom from him.
I just wish he’d make an effort, you know?
