You guessed it. It was huge. We made the Should We Go Camping? Decision.
We’ve talked about the Should We Go Camping? Decision for the past 2 years. Usually these talks resemble Middle East Peace Talks – not because we’re hostile (we’re not), but because both parties realize we’re discussing something that only one half of the party will ever fulfill.
Until last weekend.
Aliens must have invaded my brain. There is no other explanation for why an always-pedicured-manicured-
and-perfumicured girl would suggest, "Honey – you wanna spend a night alone in the woods?”
Of course… what was he going to say? The bags were in the car within 3.5 seconds. One hour later we were at the campsite. At least… part of me was at the campsite. The other half of me had to psychologically detach from the horrible scene.
There it was – right before my very eyes – a patch of dirt. “This… this… this… is it?” I asked.
“This is it!” he said excitedly. “Let’s get some firewood.”
This is where this column becomes useful to you, my dear reader. I would now like to explain how to collect firewood next time aliens have invaded your brain:
1. Pick up stick
2. Pick up another stick
3. Repeat for thirty minutes until you have a fire that will burn for approximately 15.5 seconds.
4. Salvage all the wood from the fort in the woods and silently apologize to whatever kid built it, all the while hoping that it wasn’t actually an ax murderer who built it and uses it for shelter before preying on his camping victims.
Speaking of ax murderers, I have to admit the thought crossed my mind as the sun went down. Not the thought to ax murder my husband (after all, I was the one who came up with this camping idea). Rather, the thought that maybe – just maybe – the fort was built by someone who was up to no good. Just as I had that thought… it happened.
A twig snapped. A shadow moved toward us through the woods. My heart quivered.
The shadow moved closer and closer… until finally it stepped into the moonlight.
“Well folks,” said the park ranger, “It looks like you’re all alone tonight. No one else in the park. I’ll lock the gate behind me.”
No! I wanted to shout. Don’t leave us here! Suddenly I understood how a trapped animal feels. What were we thinking? What were we doing?
We were all alone on a patch of dirt in the middle of a bathroom-forsaken State park.
It was a long night. Every twig that snapped, every owl that hooted, every breeze that blew made my heart pound faster. That, and the fact that I had to go to the “bathroom” approximately 42 times.
"Honey," I whispered, "Are you sleeping?"
"I was..."
"I've gotta go to the bathroom..."
(Repeat the above conversation endlessly over an 8 hour span.)
I was never so glad to see the sunrise. I would have kissed it if I could, but I kissed my husband instead.
"What was that for?" he asked groggily.
"That was for helping us make our first big decision."
"Great," he said as he rolled over. "Now I'm making another one. No more Big Decisions for a long, long time."
Of course… what was he going to say? The bags were in the car within 3.5 seconds. One hour later we were at the campsite. At least… part of me was at the campsite. The other half of me had to psychologically detach from the horrible scene.
There it was – right before my very eyes – a patch of dirt. “This… this… this… is it?” I asked.
“This is it!” he said excitedly. “Let’s get some firewood.”
This is where this column becomes useful to you, my dear reader. I would now like to explain how to collect firewood next time aliens have invaded your brain:
1. Pick up stick
2. Pick up another stick
3. Repeat for thirty minutes until you have a fire that will burn for approximately 15.5 seconds.
4. Salvage all the wood from the fort in the woods and silently apologize to whatever kid built it, all the while hoping that it wasn’t actually an ax murderer who built it and uses it for shelter before preying on his camping victims.
Speaking of ax murderers, I have to admit the thought crossed my mind as the sun went down. Not the thought to ax murder my husband (after all, I was the one who came up with this camping idea). Rather, the thought that maybe – just maybe – the fort was built by someone who was up to no good. Just as I had that thought… it happened.
A twig snapped. A shadow moved toward us through the woods. My heart quivered.
The shadow moved closer and closer… until finally it stepped into the moonlight.
“Well folks,” said the park ranger, “It looks like you’re all alone tonight. No one else in the park. I’ll lock the gate behind me.”
No! I wanted to shout. Don’t leave us here! Suddenly I understood how a trapped animal feels. What were we thinking? What were we doing?
We were all alone on a patch of dirt in the middle of a bathroom-forsaken State park.
It was a long night. Every twig that snapped, every owl that hooted, every breeze that blew made my heart pound faster. That, and the fact that I had to go to the “bathroom” approximately 42 times.
"Honey," I whispered, "Are you sleeping?"
"I was..."
"I've gotta go to the bathroom..."
(Repeat the above conversation endlessly over an 8 hour span.)
I was never so glad to see the sunrise. I would have kissed it if I could, but I kissed my husband instead.
"What was that for?" he asked groggily.
"That was for helping us make our first big decision."
"Great," he said as he rolled over. "Now I'm making another one. No more Big Decisions for a long, long time."
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