Why I Hate Camping
I penned this letter several years ago, when we were crazy enough to take four young children camping for a week. What were we thinking?!
Here we are at the campsite in southern Michigan. We set up camp by a lake after arriving last evening. Our friends, the veteran campers, assured us this was the best way to take a family vacation.
With four children under the age of seven, it sounded like a cheap idea. We could afford that. We borrowed an old canvas tent and set out. Did I mention that our friends, the veteran campers, already were there? They seemed to be in high spirits.
I got quite an awakening last night. It began raining and the tent leaked right over my head. Think Chinese water torture. Not only is my pillow wet, but my sleeping bag is too. I can’t hang it out to dry, due to this all-day rain.
The ground under our tent must be the site of ancient volcanic rock formations. It’s impossible to get comfortable with rocks digging into your hips. But I will be a good sport and take it all in the spirit of adventure. Our friends keep assuring us this week will be fun. Are we having fun yet?
This is the second day of all-day precipitation. The mosquitoes ought to be nominated for state bird. Maybe we should buy stock in a mosquito repellent company.
So far all we have been able to do (we, our four young children and our friends and their four young children) is sit around a picnic table under a tarp and watch it rain while getting splashed by the drips.
The kids are getting restless. I had one nerve left, and the Chinese water torture just washed it away.
Our friend’s wife, the adventurous one, keeps thinking this is great. I wonder how she would look with a bag of marshmallows stuffed in her mouth.
That it. We’re coming to visit you, wet blankets included. Make room in your nice clean shower and your warm, comfortable home. And if I ever agree to go camping again, would you take my temperature?
Your little sister