One of my girlfriends saw me filling out a permission form for my daughters at our American Heritage Girls Scouting meeting. She called over, “SO, ARE YOU GOING TO CAMP?”
“UH, HAVE YOU MET ME? THAT WOULD BE A NO.”
Giggles followed. She has met me. I’ll not be seen camping any time soon. The permission forms are only for the attendance of certain functions during the weekend. I’m not an outdoorsy sort of gal anymore. And I’m not sure when that happened. Because I use to be a country kind of gal who was up for most types of outdoor excitement.
I’m pretty sure that ended when I moved to Florida. Where indoors is preferable to outdoors with all the snake, vermin, alligators, heat, humidity, and of course the elusive frog population.
Because as you may as well know, camping involves sleeping out of doors. On the ground. Because these people that I cavort with at A.H.G.? They are a tent type of people. And one of my children is in possession of a pea sized bladder and that would mean frequent trips out of the tent for potty patrol in the middle of the night. With a flashlight. In my bunny slippers.
All conditions must be met to ensure a good night of much needed beauty sleep for me. I have my sleep-number bed adjusted to the perfect softness factor, my black Zorro mask to block out unwanted light, and the air purifier set so that no startling sounds are likely to awaken me.
But, the children really do want to experience a camping trip. So, I’ve found the perfect solution.
Next year, look out. The Fiddles are going camping.