I'm going camping. Outside. With a tent and sleeping bags and other sorts of outdoorsy equipment that I'm unfamiliar with. My friends are delighted by this. They don't believe I will make it. Not that I'll be eaten by a bear or something exciting like that, but I will demand to be taken to the nearest hotel by 10 p.m.
It's true that I'm not much of a camper. I'm more of a bedder. I like beds in rooms with climate control and adjacent to bathrooms. The last time I camped was when my mom and I went to girl scout camp in 1980. I came home with three ticks on me. That was the end of my camping career.
This is an attempt at revival. I've been informed what this is is car camping, as opposed to backpacking. (Apparently, there's special camp terminology.) I did buy a pair of hiking boots, though. When the lady at Backwoods asked what kind I was looking for, I answered "the least unattractive pair you have, please." They're still unattractive, but at least they were on sale.
There better be s'mores.
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