Until the other day, I thought I had convinced my boyfriend that I liked the outdoors. Apparently, he knew that it was a farce. He said he figured it out a few years ago. I asked, “How did you know? Did my mom tell you?”
My mom didn’t have to tell him. It was obvious from my camping skills. I don’t know how to make a fire. I don’t know how to set up a tent . . . and for the tent to stay up. The turmoil that I feel when the tent falls during a rainstorm is too much to hide.
And I don’t like to be so dirty for so long. Nature is great. But I don’t like it to be in my hair or all over my favorite boots.
I went camping once or twice last year. I might go again someday if the camping fairy brings a camper to keep out some of the nature.
Here’s a funny link about being an indoor person: