So I am going camping this weekend. Time to stretch my legs out by the fire, cook raw meat, be cold all night, get rained on, swear, spit, smoke, cuss, grow a beard. You know, the man-dance every guy must do when going camping.
I'm a little leary about the trip this time.
When we camping last, my friends showed up for a photo shoot, and I showed up to camp. Maybe I am just out dated, but camping was suppossed to be roughing it. Don't get me wrong. I enjoy the amenities as much as the next guy, but this was getting a bit absurd.
My friend Kate showed up wearing cutesy pigtails and one of those AE print t-shirts. It was dead winter so this was obviously a fashion statement. When we got the fire going, Brian broke out a 'fajita kit'. I have never been more insulted in my life. "Fajitas?" i asked. "What happened to the steaks and onions?"
Tucker brought out his state of the art satellite television, and Brandon constructed a small chateau with his designer tent. I am going banana's at this point so I head off into the woods to rough it.
It rained all night. My free-with-a-10-gallon-fill-up tent leaked and my sleeping bag made from old blankets and wool carpeting retained water like a pregnant woman. My food from the night before turned into a gruel like pulp, and I had apparantly slept on my neck at a 45 degree angle. This wouldn't have been so bad, had the angle not been in the direction of the bed of sand fleas that decided to use my face as a birthing pod. I wake up soaked, itchy, cramped, freezing, and a little drunk to be honest with you (how else did you expect me to sleep in those conditions, really).
I stepped onto the deadened leaves of the forest floor and one shoe is missing. I decided to burn my tent for warmth, and figured I'd throw my makeshift sleeping bag on the burning heap for good measure. I thawed out after a couple of minutes and decided to make my way back to their village-of-the-damned campsite where everything looked like it fell out of an LL Bean catalogue.
The chimney on Brandon's tent had a lazy ribbon of smoke drifting from it. Tucker was sitting in a fold out recliner watching the game on his satellite television. Brian and Kate sat near him eating piping hot bowls of gourmet oatmeal, Belgium waffles, a couple of omlettes, and Starbucks cappuccinos. And there I stood. Hunched over, hair asunder, soaking wet, red dots covering my face, wearing only one shoe.
They looked on me with horror at first, then with a sincere pity, my friends. I was the epitome of misery.
After my hot shower in Josh's Erectabath I sat in Tucker's heated leather fold out recliner and ate what was left of the fajita kit, most of the Belgium waffels and a cup of gourmet oatmeal. I breathed in a lungfull of mountain air, and marveled at how refreshing camping was. I closed my eyes and listened to the birds chirp in the trees, then some college team scored another touchdown and Tucker turned the tv up.
Aaaaah Camping.
Andrew
The Comical Non Fiction Writings and Thoughts by a Twenty Something Seattle Dweller
