Ok you guys, I have a few things to tell you. First of all, yesterday while I was trying to make my pallet-turned-ottoman (I’ll explain later) I was innocently putzing around in Manfriend’s backyard. In my spandex, naturally, since it was the weekend.
Then out of nowhere, I was stung by a bee. A BEE. Confused, I started screaming, jumping and panicking while trying to pull my pants away from my leg. Manfriend, also confused by my circusing-about, began panicking because we are good, bee-fearing folk who just don’t get STUNG BY BEES.
I made it inside at which point he said, “do you want to take you pants off?” Smooth, Manfriend. And, yes I did want to take my pants off but as I was afraid the bee might try to attack me from it’s grave (aka the stinger was stuck in my spandex) so it was a bit of a process. I scuttled upstairs and waited for him to DO SOMETHING since all I could do was not cry.
Then, my parents showed up. And there I was, sitting on my Manfriend’s bed without pants on holding an ice pack against my thigh moaning, “Mooooooooooom I got stuuuuuuuung.”
I can’t even believe I wore pants today to be honest. Jeans, nonetheless. I had to apply 80 million layers of a Benedryl/Cortaid cocktail in order to survive the day without going mad. Then I was going to go to the gym, but my bee sting itched so I didn’t. (Love that excuse? Me. Too.) Redic.
Since I feel as though this bee attack was unprovoked (it’s not like I dropped my pallet soon-to-be-ottoman on top of the deck under which it seems these little b-holes are living), Mother Nature and I are having a little bit of friction. I mean, ok, I threw away a few plastic bottles and sometimes I get plastic bags for my groceries when I am out of Seattle-proper but a bee-sting? Poor me.
So then, tonight, three-ish days before I leave to go camping with Manfriend and his high school “bros” I realize that I am going camping. But it’s ok because I am a camping pro. If “camping” is defined as staying anywhere that ends in “motel” and is classified under 3-stars on TripAdvisor.
Since it’s not, here’s how the conversation went:
Me: so..is there a store near this ‘camp site?’
Manfriend: no. well, like 10+ miles away.
Me: how are we supposed to eat?
Manfriend stares. Then stares some more. I am pretty sure he was suppressing a smirk.
Me: does that mean we have to pack all our food? then cook it…over a…fire?
Me: but what are we supposed to pack?!
Note: while I am not an idiot, I am really not acing the ‘play it cool, you can camp’ in front of my Manfriend.
Manfriend: beans, corn, steaks, hot dogs…
Me: oh, so this is like REAL camping?
Me: but we can shower right?
Manfriend continues to stare…and smirk…
I wouldn’t lie to you, when he pitched (hah! i’m so clever) this to me he told me it was like car-camping, which in my defense means there is access to a car which go on roads which lead to Starbucks.
Oh, shit. I just had the coffee-epiphany. Eff.
Except, yknow what? I was a Girl Scout. I can totally do this. Even when my troop mate picked a spot for our tent on a hill (what.the.hell) on a night that it monsooned (srsly.lakes.) I stuck it out.
So, I am going to pack me some Via, dry shampoo and bug spray and head to the “woods.” I use the “” because I feel like it’s going to be a clearing where there are no bears, snakes or things that bite…right? RIGHT.
Challenge accepted, Manfriend.