One scrape after another
"What did you call me?"
"Lazy, boy. They should name a recliner after you."
"I'd like to be sitting in one now. There's blood running down my right shin."
"Suck it up, Hercules."
"Hey. I'm plenty tough. I'm the one who always got up in the middle of the night to feed Sarah."
"Right, Samson. And I'm the one who pushed her out of my Heavenly Hotspot."
"Okay, I'll give you that. But who vacuums the whole house every week?"
"Yeah, and who fainted last week doing it? Actually fainted. I couldn't believe it."
"Hey, it was the diet. I had to lose three pounds for today, and you know it."
"Okay, I'll give you that. But don't you ever shut up?"
"Shut up? How about seven women gabbing away in our living room for your book group every month? I can hardly hear myself think."
"When did you ever think?"
"I think about the desserts I make every time for you literary geniuses."
"True. I'll give you that. You're not bad in the kitchen."
"Or in bed."
"Okay, this thread stops now, Casanova."
"All right. Different topic. Hey, check it out. The people look like ants down there."
"Those are ants, you idiot. Don't you remember? We were warned. This side is full of them. They're probably crawling all over your shoes."
"You're right. I'm going to reach down and brush them off."
"Very funny. Anyway, about fifty feet from now, we'll be the first couple to have taken Iron Hawk 3,000 feet to the top."
"Yeah. We'll be in the El Capitan Hall of Fame. Yosemite will erect a statue. We'll be in the New York Times."
"And they'll write about me first. 'Woman beats man to the summit.' That'll be the headline, you lazy bum."
(Word count: 298)