
Anyone that knows me knows that Glinda does not do camping. Not that I have anything against people that do. I am sure there are some very enjoyable things about it. I just never really intend to find out.
Of course, as luck would have it, I had a son. A son, it turns out, who thinks camping is the Best. Thing. Ever. Granted he’s only done it once so far, but he is simply enamored of the entire concept. From sleeping in a tent, to the campfire, to peeing on a tree, he’s all over it.
The idea of camping just makes me shudder. The bugs! The lack of showering facilities! The non-bed aspect! I just can’t wrap my mind around why someone would want to actually do that and yet call it a vacation.
Luckily for the Munchkin, his father has camped many times (before we started dating, anyway) and thinks it is a nice family bonding time. Unfortunately, he thinks that family bonding time should include me as well. Not a month goes by that he tries to guilt trip me into going with them, labeling me a bad mommy who won’t share in her son’s interests.
Listen, Glinda likes nature. She has absolutely nothing against nature at all. She just prefers to experience it from a balcony while sipping her tea, wrapped up in a comfy robe.
Is that so wrong?