I Forgot I was Afraid of Heights

I forgot I was afraid of heights.

That isn't in the set of questions when you're offered upgrades to your entrance fee.

"Excuse me ma'am, before you pay, I need to ask you... are you afraid of heights?"

No. That is not a complimentary interrogation question for tourists.

I was asked, however, if I would like a photoshoot on their swing wearing a fancy dress rental with a ridiculously long train for the perfect photo opportunity.

Upcharge. Upgrade. Paid service.

The front desk attendant motioned to a set of cobblestone steps leading down to the dress shop near the swings. It wasn't until I was making my decent down to the deep ravine made up of scenic rice fields in central Bali that I remembered my fear. 

As I approached the dress rental counter I tried my hardest to swallow my fear of heights. I settled on a beautiful, iconic, bold red gown that I wasn't quite sure would fit me, even though I was told, "all dresses are the same."

The wait for the fitting room took some time as there is only one fitting room and an attendant to help you into your dress. I casually started chatting up the woman in front of me and we showed each other the dresses that we picked out.

Ooooh aaaaahhh. Gorgeous, girlfriend!

When it was my turn I squeezed my plus sized body into the model sized fitting room. It was a puzzle of a dress. The attendant helped me into the main piece that split down the front, with a long flowing train in the back. When she tried wrapping it around my torso to tie in the front, we, uh, ran out of fabric? It was very obviously too small. The attended acted surprised (God bless her) and then very quickly she grabbed another orange dress with a stretchy fit on top.

First dress off. Second dress on.

The top of this dress fit great, however, the second section of the orange dress was missing. The attendant exited again and returned with a long piece of silky orange fabric and some safety pins. Quickly she wrapped the fabric around me and fastened it in place.

Obviously she's done this many times before, right?

Right...

After I was pinned into my dress, I took the excess train fabric in my hand and wobbled down to wait for my turn on the swing. There was a short line of gorgeous, influencer-looking, fit models...

I mean, uh, average female tourists in rented dresses.

I politely waited my turn and when the host motioned for me to come to the swing, I must have let out a fearful gasp because one of the model-looking woman turned to me and shouted, "It's not as bad as it looks. You can do it!"

Yay, women empowering other women... woo hoo... I struggled to hold in my instinctual need to argue with her and masked a smile and nod in her direction before hobbling up to the swing hanging too near to the sloping cliff for my comfort.

The host in front motioned to a stepping stool sitting beneath the swing. My brain wasn't comprehending how I was supposed to hold the excess fabric of my dress, step up, turn around, hop onto the swing aaaannnd not fall down the cliff in front of me all at the same time. He motioned again, a little too impatiently. I looked from the stepping stool to him. He motioned again.

I managed to step up onto the stool and turn around, not quite ready to grab the ropes and hop up on the swing. I stood there staring in front of me, frozen in motion. Brain malfunction. Annoying man urging me to grab the swing and hop up. Arms reaching up, grabbing the ropes on either side of me. Horrible, treacherous host insisting I remove my feet planted unsurely on the stepping stool beneath me. With a deep breath and silent prayer I prepared to hoist my body up with a jump to sitting on the swing.

Then suddenly the attendant directly in front of me let out a gasp. I looked down and discovered my under skirt had completely fallen off, exposing my frontside to the entire valley below me full of tourists and guides.

Shock squared.

I was frozen. My attendant quickly wrapped the remaining piece of fabric that I was wearing around my front section.

I'm pretty sure I spent about 15 minutes on display before I was ushered off the stool, escorted by the dress attendant awkwardly holding "my dress" as we made a beeline for the women's restroom.

The rest of the experience was a blur but I somehow managed to find myself facing my fear of heights again. It was quieted by this new fear of having my dress fall off in front of a crowd. Weird. I wonder where that fear came from?

I jumped up.

I was relieved that I had made it up without falling, but unsure of what to do next. A team of three men began adjusting my dress and fastening safety belts around me. The fabric around me was being tugged at and the straps to hold me in were being adjusted. 

My anticipation grew. Was I going to fall hurtling to the ground when the swing gave way to my body weight. Or was my dress going to fall off? I welcomed death at this point.

3, 2, 1... I was flying.

And that, my friends, is how I found myself a plus-sized instagram influencer and I chuckled at the thought that I traveled to the other side of the world and paid for this experience.

Was it worth it?

Maybe.

At least I have a fun story to tell... and some iconic photos to share!