I enjoy camping. I just wish I didn’t have to set up anything. Or sleep on the floor. A little story below. Enjoy.
If I wanted to pretend I was an animal maybe I would prefer camping over the luxuries of home. You know, a toilet and a shower. Running water and hygiene. But I’m not an animal, and I need a certain level of comfort to be able to function as a human being.
I need a bed, I need food – that I don’t have to start a fire to eat, or eat cold from a can – A microwave, I suppose. I need cold water that comes from a device in my fridge, and ice too if the drink calls for it. I want to brush my teeth in a sink, and not in a cup where I watch swirling remnants of toothpaste coagulate together before I have to take another sip and gargle.
I need clean clothes that don’t reek of campfire. I need to be free from mozzies, leeches, snakes and spiders before I go to bed. I want to not be chased by a goanna in the middle of the night because I have to go outside into the bush and pee. I want to not go to the toilet in a bucket. Or worse, dig a hole in the ground. I want to shower and to be able to wash my hair. And most of all I want noise. I find the quiet unnerving.
“All ready, honey?” My wife said, as she stuffed the last sleeping bag into the trailer.
“Yes! I’m so excited that we are going camping on our only holiday this year.”
“I know,” she said, enthusiasm practically frothing from her mouth. “It will be wonderful.” She got into the car.
“Yes.” I agreed and plastered the excited expression on my face that I was going to wear for the next 5 days. After all, she doesn’t complain when I take her on fishing trips, and she would rather throw herself overboard the thread a worm on a hook.
The things we do for love.