So.....I'm not a camper

Traumatized at the age of eleven, I swore to never go camping again. Of course I really didn’t have much authority in that area being a kid and all. It was really up to my parents. My family enjoyed camping. Went every year while I was a kid. Then the constant complaining finally took its toll and my parents agreed to put the tent up in the rafters of the garage and leave it there, never to be retrieved again. I guess I should feel bad, but I didn’t. Not at the time anyway. I should have. It was a family affair, our camping trips. We’d all go up to this one lake resort and tent camp. Once in a while my parents would splurge for a cabin with no electricity. I hardly saw the difference.

But back to my moment of trauma. As I stated, I was eleven at the time. We had gone camping on plenty of occasions up until that point and I really didn’t complain. Everyone in our family would go. Grandparents, uncles, cousins, the whole shebang and I had fun for the most part. Then something changed. I started noticing boys…..and the lack of electrical outlets for my hair dryer and curling iron out in the woods. I wish I could say I wasn’t so superficial back then, but I can’t. That I was still a little kid who didn't think of boys and kissing but still played with her Barbies and ran around in circles to get dizzy for fun, but no. I was eleven after all. Hormones start kicking in, body starts changing and you have no idea why that boy is a little less gross. You're a kid who suddenly thinks you're one step away from adulthood. You remember, you’re not quite a teenager but you can see it on the horizon and the boy who once annoyed you is the one you constantly sneak awkward glances at because you can’t quite figure out what changed to make him not so annoying anymore. You stop playing with toys and start playing with your hair. You experiment with makeup and your appearance becomes a big deal. I mean you wouldn’t be caught dead hanging out at the mall on the weekend without looking the best you possibly could, would you? Not anymore. So imagine my horror when I stopped loathing boys and started noticing they were around.....and they were. As a kid, I had one of those short, pixie haircuts thanks to a mother who didn’t want to deal with the maintenance of long hair (it’s no wonder I keep my hair long now) but add that to the fact that I was stick thin, I was easily mistaken for a boy if I didn’t do myself up. So here we are. At the lake with the family and next thing we know, there is another family renting some cabins a little ways down and who is with them? Their 12 year old son. Their very cute 12 year old son and me and my cousin are the only kids around in his age group. My “not washed in 2 days” hair was under an LA Dodgers baseball cap that was slightly too big for my head. I was wearing some baggy shorts, tube socks, and a Garfield t-shirt (all hail Garfield). The master of 80s fashion, I looked like one of the nerds in the Revenge of the Nerds movie. Needless to say, I wasn’t looking my best and I have a sneaking suspicion that he didn’t realize at first that I was a girl. Of course that could be because he actually said that. Anyway, not something a girl wants to hear and it was after that trip that I decided camping wasn’t for me. Unless of course there was electricity, hot water, and a TV.

Over the years, that thought hasn’t changed much. I still am not a fan of camping, but I’ve been married for almost 26 years now so my husband has already seen me at my worst. Who knows? Maybe one day I might actually go again. Although I doubt it will be in a tent. Maybe a hotel……