Are you a happy camper?
Wanna know the truth about me? I'm not a good camper. In my everyday life, this really isn't an issue. But... (oh the "but") Jeffrey and his family are camping folk. The real kind. With long drives to campsites, tents, and cooking over fire... Lord, give me strength.
Ok, I freely admit that this isn't the end of the world. I'm not proud of the fact that I have such an aversion to smelling like smoke, that I avoid entire blocks of Farmers Market on Thursdays. And that smell wafting through the sky on Thursday nights is as close to camping as I care to get. No, really. Really.
Here's the dilemma, friends...
The Claassen's have planned a family camping trip and I have been instructed to "suck it up, and do it for the kids". Urrghhh... Really? Do kids need camping? I think my distaste for the outdoors came about from my own dad's enthusiasm for it. I've slept through a storm at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, and sat on the side of the road watching him fix a Winnebago through numerous states. I'm not sure that he needed to do that for me, but thank you regardless, dad. ♥
I'm trying to get my head into camping-mode - and yes, trying not to be such a panty about it all. In this period of mental preparation, I'm thinking about the things that will make me happy and comfortable on the trip (in hopes of sparing others of my woe-is-me face). I even have a camping inspiration board. Ready?
I AM SO SERIOUS, you guys.
I imagine myself smelling like peppermint Dr.Bronner's soap (not campfire), and wearing my Hunter boots with vintage tunic dresses... and my hair is inexplicably way longer too. And wavy. Yeah. Totally wavy. NATURALLY, wavy though. And I subsist on marshmallows, perfectly toasted over an odorless flame. I sit in my Cath Kidston teepee surrounded by cushy pillows with jingly pompoms on the corners, journaling about my experience in nature. Am I forgetting anything here?
AH! I also fly-fish like a pro. But, you know, in a gorgeous Free People-y kind-of way. Duh.
And the title of my future best-selling book? GLAMPING.
*Let's Sleep Under Stars print, via The Wheatfield by Katie Daisy