Blast of Summer

It's the first day of summer for my kids.

I'm located in Clearfield, Pennsylvania.

Camping.

Like every good camping trip, it's raining.

I'd like to talk to you about what camping is, because frankly, not everyone knows.

It always rains. Unless you are in Utah. (And then it's so hot in the desert you might as well be dead because that is what it will feel like.)

You wear the same sweatshirt for four days because. Rain.

It's pretty healthy because you have to walk a mile to pee. And it never ever ever fails that your bladder will betray you with a 4am sloshing urge to spill over. Never fails. Like last night. You lay there and know that this will be your life in fifteen years but strongly desire that it not be so today because. Mile. You must decide how dire the situation. You attempt to fall back asleep, but by 5am you realize the error of your ways because now you know that it is physically impossible to crawl out of your sleeping bag, let alone actually walk said mile.

It's the walk of shame.

As the entire campground can hear the "zzzzzzzzzz" of the tent zipper.

Ha. Another camper bites the dust.

You basically do not brush your hair for four days. Four days. Friends.

Showering can be something for which you look forward. Possibly.

You perfectly capable camper you, you head to the house of showers, adequately prepared with a towel, washcloth, separate bag for dirty clothes, a bag with the essentials designed to hang, AND flip flops to wear IN the shower. You've been doing this for years. You got this. You got it.

Friends. I do not care how many blessed years you have been doing this. It will go wrong every time.

Have you ever tried to balance in wet, slippery shoes, with a soapy rag, holding a bottle of shampoo,trying desperately not to touch anything? Like if your elbow touches the wall your whole life will be over? If you've been camping you have.

If by slight random chance you make it through the washing portion of the show without touching anything, you give yourself a cookie, but you surely face the greatest gauntlet ahead.

Drying/dressing in fresh warm clothes with wet flip flops in the coldest, dampest environment known to man.

Let's take a quick minute to describe the tool you have on hand for this task. A pre-shrunken towel you've had since 1984, because you certainly do not take your $20 oversized beauty, camping. By pre-shrunken, we mean it reduced it's size by half over 20 years of washing.

It's hard to say where to begin drying, but you know for sure your feet will be last. Nothing dries, friends, nothing. You want to dry your feet in hopes to put on your underwear and pants and get a slight bit of coverage from the cold air seeping into the house of showers. You "dry" your feet and then carefully slip your wet feet through your undergarments, which in turn soak up the water like a dying cowboy. You force them up your damp, frozen body. Ahh. That feels. Gross.

The above scenario will occur 99.9% of the time. Guaranteed.

Perhaps you make it through. Perhaps you do.

But then, on the way out of the shower section, past the pottys, you drop your wet washcloth. And die a thousand deaths.

You only take your beloveds camping. Only your beloveds will be happy to see your makeup-less face, your windblown/unbrushed hair, your same sweatshirt for days, and still be willing to sit next to you and share the simple pleasure of a hot dog in the smoke filled air. (Disclaimer: if it's anything but Ballpark, you are officially NOT camping.)

They might even give you a flashlight at 4am.

Without laughing. But unlikely.