Camping is not for the feint of heart; it's basically the most work you can do and still call it a vacation. And for some reason, we love it. Truthfully, it's probably the tantalizing mix of cheap booze and lawn chairs that draws me in. For Jason, it's the excuse to play with fire.
I hate to say it, but while you are reading this, I am maxing and relaxing at a campsite somewhere north east of here. Oh yeah. I've probably got a sweaty drink in one hand...it's probably just about to slip out of my grasp because although I've got a book in the other hand, I'm not-so-secretly napping in the sun, burning the one shoulder I forgot to put sunscreen on (don't worry; I got the other one twice). I've got my drink on. I've got my lazy on. I'm probably only moments away from getting my swerve on. Not to make you jealous or anything.
All right, well, if you insist, be a small amount of jealous. Don't drown yourself in it or anything. Just a pinch. I mean, sure, I probably haven't worn actual pants in days. Sure, the only traffic jam I've seen was when my canoe was within 100 meters of some other dude's canoe. Sure I've slept under the stars and breathed fresh air and toasted marshmallows on an open flame.
Like I said: a small amount of jealous.
If it makes you feel any better, they are calling for "extreme" weather this week. Possibly I'm being pelted with hail and blown to and fro (preferably fro) right this very moment. Possibly it's raining, so I'm cuddled up to my husband, reading a good book, sipping some wine, listening to the drops hit the forest floor. Possibly we've taken cover at a cute little ice cream stand or an old fashioned drive-in movie theatre.
But maybe the sun in shining, and I'm floating down a cool river, dreaming that heaven is just like this.
Damn I love vacation.