In Which I Go Camping
Well, it started off well enough. The other day I loaded up the car, dropped off the dogs at Vacation with Jack and sped up the country roads toward Mena, Arkansas. My 4-cylinder Honda coupe crept along the gravel roads of the Ouachita National Forest, was parked in the rocky clearing and, with a relieved sigh, I had made it.
Thomas’ erections, heh heh
Three hours later, I was in a collapsed tent wresting around like a bunch of angry cats in a burlap sack.
Let me back up a little.
When all the gang had arrived and set up camp, they quickly changed into their swimsuits and headed down to the water. I, on the other hand, was grappling with my own swimming attire in The Big Pickle, my new tent, which, it turns out, was sized less like a tent for a grown-ass lady and more like an actual Gherkin. Stretched out on my back, I shimmied into my shorts and wrangled into my top. Shouts of glee could be heard in the distance as my friends frolicked in the water. I finally got everything tucked in, crawled out of the tent on all fours, grabbed a Solo cup full of Bonne’s “special” camp lemonade (i.e. A Boot in the Ass) and headed down to the river to fraternize.
Kathryn, Pam and Erin
After a couple of glasses of that damn lemonade, I tried to get on a float. Flopping around in the shallow water like a beached whale, I tried again and again, wrenching my body up and crashing back into the river. Finally fed up, I slogged through the water to the beach, decided I was done for the evening and wobbled up the rocky bank to change my clothes.
Camp shenanigans
Eureka! Given how hard it had been to get my swimsuit gear ON, I decided that it made more sense to take it off and change in The Poop Tent, which Bonne had erected. Everybody’s seen this kind of tent: it’s really made for beaches: a tall, narrow silo where people change clothes. Well, we had not yet gotten around to tying it down, so it was free standing. I lurched into the tent, stripped off my swimsuit, tripped on a rock, slammed into the wall of the tent, TOOK THE WHOLE THING DOWN, wallowed around, rolled on the ground, skinned my knee and in general looked like a goat trying to get out of a python after it’s been swallowed. NAKED.
Note to self: Let this be a lesson - consuming camp lemonade while trying to change out of wet clothes in 100’ temps is a recipe for disaster. (But hey! If anyone wants the recipe for Bonne’s lemonade, hit me up.)
Good ol’ Skelly enjoying more camp shenanigans
So it was a rocky start, to say the least. But the next few days were full of beer, floating on the river, sunshine, sunburns, camp food, card-playing, cavorting, and not the least, enjoying good friends who are family. We celebrated Hanna’s 23rd birthday, with her insisting that the rest of us share a round of Fireball with her; regrets ensued.
Happy birthday, Hanna!
On the last full day, it rained. Rained pretty hard, in fact. By that point, I had surrendered The Big Pickle to the camp Labrador Retriever as a pup tent and moved into a spare tent that Erin brought, in which I could stand erect and move around, but was a bit lacking in the watertight aspect. So it was a soggy last 24 hours or so, but we entertained each other by playing cards, yakking and drinking more beer.
So another good camping trip in the books with my best friends in the world!
I don’t know where the teeth came from, and I don’t want to know.
