When I was 6 years old, my parents took my brother and me to the Biltmore House and Gardens. As a child (and even as an adult later on), I found the house to be huge. Everything about the place was huge. We had a guide to take us around the property. She was very thorough in her descriptions of the historical objects. After we toured the home, she took us out into the gardens.
One place was a giant maze of plants. My brother dared me to race him through the maze to see who could get out faster. I have always been a sucker for dares, and this one wasn't any different. It was dark, when we entered the maze. He ran faster than me, so I got lost in the maze. All I could see what seemed like walls of bushes ten-feet high. I got scared and began to cry. I couldn't find my way out. I figured that if I couldn't see above the walls, I would go through the bushes to find my way out.
Panic set in. I had the same feeling as I did, when I got lost in the grocery store three years prior. I started yelling out for help. I didn't know what to do. Where was my brother? Where were my parents? Had they all abandoned me?
Off in the distance, I heard a voice. I recognized it as our guide. She said she was coming to get me. When she got me out of the maze, I was embarrassed that she had to come get me, even though I was crying. My brother thought it was funny. My parents were mad at him for daring me to go into the maze. I haven't gone into a maze since that night. Although, glass houses at the fair don't count.
