 My daughter and I went camping for a Girl Scout event. We were
assigned our own tent, which I thought was wonderful and my daughter
probably thought was LAME. Though, to her credit, she didn't mention
the lameness of it all.The tent was a rental unit provided by the
Scout camp. It was a canvas tent with a wooden platform and a wooden
framework on which to attach the canvas. There were no zipper
closures. That would have been too convenient. Inside were four
demon cots designed to build character.
The first thing I did while hauling sleeping bags from the car
was to introduce myself to the tent in the traditional way: by
careening headfirst into the wooden framework. We each came away
with a souvenir of the event. The tent got part of my skull and
probably some hair and blood samples. I got a broken pair of
sunglasses and a goose egg the size of Spain. I believe the tent was
getting more out of our relationship than I was.
We ate sandwiches for dinner and then sat by the pond, fishing. A
pair of exhibitionist ducks interrupted our peaceful interlude and
proceeded to entertain us with an "inter-lewd" of nasty, right in
front of us! How rude!
Since the mosquitoes were biting and the fish were not, we decide
to go back to camp, where the scenery wasn't so racy.
After a half-hearted attempt at s'mores using a propane cooktop
-- it was too late for a fire -- we decided to hit the demon cots.
Sleep eluded us, however. Maybe it was the 200 screaming Girl
Scouts parading around our tent until the wee hours.
Maybe it was the demon cots that let out a squeal that sounded
like a hog being butchered if you so much as blinked. Maybe it was
the fact that our tent didn't have zippers and seemed to be a
popular hangout for bugs of every species. Zippers would have been a
nice convenience.
Or maybe it was the horrific snoring coming from the tent next
door. Who knew a female could snore like that? I thought there was a
biker bar next door. Though, a Girl Scout camp did not seem to be
the right venue for that. At that point in our adventure, I learned
to really appreciate the walls in my house.
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 At 2 in the morning, my daughter had to use the restroom.
"Should I wear a jacket, Mom?"
"Why? There are just as many bugs in here as there are outside.
On the other hand, you might need something to sleep in if the
creepy-crawlies liberate our sleeping bags while we're gone."
We didn't have a flashlight and there was no moon that night, but
we could see the lights of the bathhouse. We merely followed them,
hoping our feet wouldn't land in something gross. A flashlight
would've been great about that time.
Getting back to the tent was a different story. We couldn't see
the tents. I thought we could be one of those people you read about
in the newspapers who get lost in a blizzard, freeze to death and
then... well... die, only to find out that their house was 100 feet
away. For a moment, I was really worried. Which way was our tent?
Then, out of the darkness, we heard... a biker bar. God bless The
Snorer! We followed the sound of the Harley throttling and made it
back to our tent.
My heartfelt gladness for The Snorer faded significantly as soon
as we lay down on the demon cots again. I think maybe we should've
brought our sleeping bags to the bathhouse and slept in a shower
stall. It would have been quieter.
[By LAURA SNYDER]
Laura Snyder is a nationally syndicated columnist,
author and speaker. You can reach her at
lsnyder@lauraonlife.com
or visit www.lauraonlife.com
for more info.
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