I have received permission from my good friends Ann & Deborah to relate this tale, as it involves all of us. I hope I do this justice, and I apologise in advance for any lapses in my memory.
At the time our children were all in school together, and we met up quite frequently. It was on one of those boozy afternoons around Ann's pool that someone suggested we all go camping. I can't remember who made the suggestion, and I'm pretty sure they wouldn't own up to it anyway. I'd been sipping on a few too many coolers, so I threw caution to the wind and said "Why not ?". Rob stared at me in horror "Have you lost your mind ? ". Admittedly, I have always maintained I'd rather have a root canal than sleep in a tent, but really how bad could it be ? The kids were all excited, so what could possibly go wrong ? Everything as it turns out.
We managed to book 3 campsites together at a provincial park, bought or borrowed all the necessary gear and off we go. By this time I have long sobered up and having serious misgivings. When I voice my concerns to my dear husband, he has no sympathy. "That's what happens when you drink" he remarked scornfully. "If you don't come up with a stupid idea yourself, you agree to someone else's. Serves you right". Wow, I didn't see that coming. However, unfortunately he is right. Get a couple of drinks into me, and I do pretty much agree to anything (but that is a story for another day).
Anyway, we arrived at a very pretty campsite, with access to a beach and a lake, so maybe this wouldn't turn out so bad after all. The first evening went well, with lots of food and drink. We sat around the campfire, while the stories got funnier as the evening and the drinking progressed. We had noticed a couple of police cars cruise by throughout the evening, but didn't think anything of it, until after we'd turned in, and discovered that we had landed, not in a family camp ground but at party bloody central. The other campsites which had previously seemed to be at a good distance away, might as well have been on top of us, as we listened to rock, rap and country music battle it out for supremacy, through half the night. Add to that, the hollering of insults hurled back and forth (I did learn some new choice words) and any thoughts I had of being lulled to sleep by the gentle hoot of an owl, went right out the tent flap.
I woke up the next morning on a flat air mattress and in a foul mood. I was so stiff I could barely move, and it was a 2 person effort to get me to my feet. I put on a happy face for breakfast, and then while the "women folk" cleared up and prepared a picnic lunch, the men decided to go for a drive. I can't even recall why at this point. What I do remember, is that it was supposed to be quick and they were to bring back Tim's coffee. Almost 2 hours later they return, looking very sheepish. Supposedly it had taken a while to find a Tim's. We were only 40 minutes from home, so they could have driven to Ajax and back in that time to get the damn coffee. To my knowledge, we never did find out what they got up to. I think it was a little like Fight Club, and the men weren't talking.
Anyway, they return with cold coffees to a stoney silence and we all head down to the beach. We barely have time for lunch before we notice a big thunderstorm rolling in across the lake. We high tail it back to the tents and spend the rest of the day listening to water pounding on the canvas and incessant cries of "I'm bored". We at least fared better than Deb, who unbeknownst to us had spent the afternoon in her car because their tent was in danger of floating away. I won't repeat the string of curses she had for her husband, but I will say they put mine to shame.
The storm clears up in time for dinner, but by now everything was soaked and the ground was a mud bath. Tempers are a little frayed and we're all trying to figure out who to blame for proposing this debacle in the first place. After dinner we tried to sit around the fire again, but the rain had brought out all the mosquitoes, so there was no fun in it. Rob had gone to put our youngest to bed but when I got up after him I slipped in the mud. The chair collapsed and somehow I got wedged. I was flailing like a turtle stranded on its back, my jacket caught in the chair and my feet waving in the air. Everyone but Grady had gone back to their respective tents, so I sent my dear son to get his father's help.
He comes back with the message, "Dad say's he's busy, you have to wait"
I suppose at this point I could have sent him to get Lloyd or Marshall, but I just knew I'd never be allowed to forget it, so instead I send him back to our tent."Tell your father I need him here now".
Off he trots, only to return again, alone. "Dad says to cool your jets".
By this time any exposed skin is covered in bug bites, and I am no closer to getting free of the chair, or righting myself. Not surprisingly, rolling around in the mud trying to remove the chair from my arse, hasn't improved my mood and I am far from happy.
"Tell your father, I don't ****ing care what he's ****ing doing, he's to to get his ****ing ass out here now, and make it ****ing pronto". I do have a tendency to swear a little more when I get upset.
Ten minutes go by with no sign of husband or son, so I use that time productively, plotting how to kill them in their sleep. When my knight in rusting armour finally shows up, I am expecting abject apologies when he sees my predicament, but no, I get a lecture on how all people in the surrounding campsites can probably hear me swearing. That man had a death wish.
The rest of the second night was like the first, only much wetter. The next morning, we all agree it's every man, woman & child for themselves, and we can't pack up and get out of there fast enough. I should mention, that first camping trip is also my last.
So this goes out to Ann & Lloyd, Deborah & Marshall, with fond memories of good times ! .
Anyway, they return with cold coffees to a stoney silence and we all head down to the beach. We barely have time for lunch before we notice a big thunderstorm rolling in across the lake. We high tail it back to the tents and spend the rest of the day listening to water pounding on the canvas and incessant cries of "I'm bored". We at least fared better than Deb, who unbeknownst to us had spent the afternoon in her car because their tent was in danger of floating away. I won't repeat the string of curses she had for her husband, but I will say they put mine to shame.
The storm clears up in time for dinner, but by now everything was soaked and the ground was a mud bath. Tempers are a little frayed and we're all trying to figure out who to blame for proposing this debacle in the first place. After dinner we tried to sit around the fire again, but the rain had brought out all the mosquitoes, so there was no fun in it. Rob had gone to put our youngest to bed but when I got up after him I slipped in the mud. The chair collapsed and somehow I got wedged. I was flailing like a turtle stranded on its back, my jacket caught in the chair and my feet waving in the air. Everyone but Grady had gone back to their respective tents, so I sent my dear son to get his father's help.
He comes back with the message, "Dad say's he's busy, you have to wait"
I suppose at this point I could have sent him to get Lloyd or Marshall, but I just knew I'd never be allowed to forget it, so instead I send him back to our tent."Tell your father I need him here now".
Off he trots, only to return again, alone. "Dad says to cool your jets".
By this time any exposed skin is covered in bug bites, and I am no closer to getting free of the chair, or righting myself. Not surprisingly, rolling around in the mud trying to remove the chair from my arse, hasn't improved my mood and I am far from happy.
"Tell your father, I don't ****ing care what he's ****ing doing, he's to to get his ****ing ass out here now, and make it ****ing pronto". I do have a tendency to swear a little more when I get upset.
Ten minutes go by with no sign of husband or son, so I use that time productively, plotting how to kill them in their sleep. When my knight in rusting armour finally shows up, I am expecting abject apologies when he sees my predicament, but no, I get a lecture on how all people in the surrounding campsites can probably hear me swearing. That man had a death wish.
The rest of the second night was like the first, only much wetter. The next morning, we all agree it's every man, woman & child for themselves, and we can't pack up and get out of there fast enough. I should mention, that first camping trip is also my last.
So this goes out to Ann & Lloyd, Deborah & Marshall, with fond memories of good times ! .
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