8 August 1998
OK, so I've just learned that Andy and I are not, it turns out, campers.
My teacher friend Darcie took us camping yesterday, along with her boyfriend Jeff. Darcie and Jeff are seasoned campers and have all the equipment, so it seemed like a good idea.
We met them up at the campsite last night (Friday) at around 7 p.m. We were planning to stay until Sunday, but a mere 24 hours later, we were home and safe in our apartment. What went wrong?
"You're going camping?"
"ANDY is going camping?"
"You and Andy are going WHERE?"
After hearing this over and over, I began to get defensive. Sure, we like our air conditioning and our computers. Sure, we only take walks twice a month, and usually to the library, which is next door. So what? What would prevent us from enjoying a fine nature experience?
Let's start with...our bodies. We're both, um, well-fed folk. We're not dressing in mumus, but we like our movie popcorn and our pasta products. Canoeing, walking up and down hills, bending, climbing in and out of tents, these are all activities that we were called upon to perform with our unforgiving little stomachs in our way. Fun was had, yes, but we paid the price with sore arms and sweat-soaked shirts.
Next we'll cover...public bathrooms. I awoke in my tent this morning with some kind of cramping pain. I felt like I had to spend some quality time in the bathroom or at least get rid of some gas, but among Darcie and Jeff? In the bathroom where other campers could discover me? No, thank you...not for me. The more I avoided my bodies urgings, the worse I felt. Andy had his own active nasal passages to deal with. Loud wet sneezes were heard among all campers present on the site as Andy rid himself of gallons of droplet nuclei.
Finally, it was the heat that sealed our fate and sent us home a day early. At about 4:30 Andy and I sat in our chairs near the campfire site staring forlornly at the hot tent that we would have to crawl into a mere five hours in the future. Andy sneezed and blew his nose on the dwindling paper towel supply. I sat in my chair for fear of what would happen if I stood. Darcie and Jeff could not have been more gracious, prepared hosts. There were marinated chicken breasts and s'mores in our future. But we couldn't stand it any longer. We cracked.
We fled in our air-conditioned car like the big, spoiled babies we are. Seated in front of our computers, air conditioning blasting, we are communing with our own god.