Whitewater Rafting

Last weekend, Josh, Jaron, Amber and Kate joined me as we rafted down some river two hours from Seoul. (Everything we've done everywhere is two hours somewhere from Seoul). I forgot to take my cell phone out of my pocket until halfway through the trip. It still works. I got soaked. My wallet still works, too. It still has some dampness to it, as do the dollar bills. We had one guide, who's English name was "No Passing" she told us.
"No Passing" made us play games where we dumped each other into the cold water. I started shivering, and then she made us play "Titanic," where a male rafter holds a standing female rafter on the edge of the raft. The other rafters paddle the raft in circles until either the centripetal force conquers the standing rafters' centers of balance, or until Scrumplet pushes them overboard.
"No Passing," who my fellow rafters swear took a shine to me, had me hold her while the other rafters spun us. I finally lost my grip, she fell in, and I stayed in the raft, not jumping in after because I was cold and I'm an asshole. I warmed up quickly.
Our group of five conquered the rapids alongside two Korean groups of about twelve apiece. While alongside these other rafts full of people, our leader had us "attack." We splashed them a little with our paddles, and they returned the favor, soaking us. On the busride back to the changing rooms, the Koreans asked Josh to sing a pop song. He sang "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," thinking maybe he'd pulled a fast one with an American Kid's song. The Korean sang the Korean version for three seconds afterward and laughed.
We all packed dry clothes, so the busride home didn't give us hypothermia or pneumonia or influenza. We ate pizza later. There was corn on it, and carrots, along with the pepperoni and cheese and tomato sauce. It's good, regardless of the interesting toppings.
I hope my apartment doesn't smell like feces when I return tonight.