So, camping isn't quite my thing. But I went last weekend anyway because, let's face it - it was go then, when the low temperature was 32 degrees, or go in December, when the low temperature would be, oh, freeze your ass off. And to be quite honest, I didn't hate the experience like I suspected I might. I tolerated it like a champ.
There were the good things: a warm fire (which I didn't realize would beg to be paid attention to like a three-year-old. I swear, if the boyfriend didn't tend to it as diligently as he did, it would have stuffed a marble up its nose right before pouring milk all over the floor); an even warmer sleeping bag; and beer that never got warm.
But there were also the "eh" things: Bathroom facilities that smelled like sulphur and decaying bodies (I know, I know, I should have just gone in the woods - but, people, then the pee that splashed back up on my jeans would have frozen. You'll have to trust me when I say I'm not crafty enough to pop a squat without splashing); near-constant shivering; hot dogs that tasted a little too much like metal; and using sticks (actual STICKS!) as cooking utensils.
But, BUT! There wasn't a single mosquito, fly, bee, or wasp in sight.
"Well, it's either cold or bugs," the boyfriend said.
I'll take... hold on, lemme toss a coin... heads is "bugs"... actually, no I want the other one... wait, I changed my mind...
This might take a while.
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