Camping. It’s the bane of my existence. I dread May long weekend, purely for the fact, that for the next 4 months or so, people will start asking, “Are you going to come camping with us?” Really? Really?!
That’s when I reply, ” Do you want to have your eyes scratched out by a little man wearing tweed? That’s what I thought.”
As far as I’m concerned, I’ve already been camping this year, and have filled my quota for time spent outdoors. I totally consider my trip to Forks as camping.
Really, we were in the wilderness! It was the middle of nowhere, with a forest all around us. It was wet and rainy, and smelled of earth. We stayed in a Motel, had to haul our stuff up stairs (which counts as physical labour), and only had a couple of hot meals. It was camping at its finest.
Maybe for the next four months I should start asking the campers if they’d like to go to the ballet with me. I’m pretty sure I know what their answers would be.