Dear Sassy Britches,
You were 100% right. A pStyle would have come in very handy.
Sisters in the Bonds,
Dear Miscellaneous Dad Next To Me In The Dinner Line,
I am sorry you never grew any hair on your legs, but I still haven’t figured out why you thought I needed to know that about you.
Dear Isaac’s Mom,
I am guessing this was the first time you had been out in daylight. Clearly the first time you have been around other adults. How you managed to find someone with whom you could reproduce is beyond me. I’m just saying that if you were my mom, chasing me around the entire camp yelling “ISAAAAAAC!!!!!” at the top of your lungs every 15 minutes and NEVER ONCE praising me for anything I attempted all weekend, I would have smeared the play-do too. Only, it wouldn’t have been on the floor of the Medieval Castle.
What can I say? You taught the kids to make rope, you taught the adults to braid plastic, and you gave me an evening I will never forget. I only hope I was able to return the favor. And I hope you find your dentures.
Dear Man (or Woman) Who Snored Like A Lawnmower At Scout Camp:
Really, until we shared our night together, Boy Scout Camp had not been nearly as torturous as I had imagined.
Oh, sure, it was hot and humid, and I smelled like a locker room floor by the time the sun set. And they only had 8 toilets for 258 campers (95% of whom could pee standing up).
But all in all, the first day of camp had gone much better than expected. I had avoided both touching poison ivy and putting on my swimsuit, and nature and I were getting along fabulously.
Per camp rules, I securely velcro’d the tent doors shut and turned off the flashlight. I curled up in the sleeping bag I borrowed from my daughter (that was about 6 inches too short). I laid my Tempur-Pedic pillow carefully upon the standard-issue cot that had almost as much give as concrete and closed my eyes for some well-earned sleep.
And then, about 15 minutes later, you must have done the same.
Your “kgn-kgn-kgn-kgn-kgn (pause) kgn-kgn-kgn-kgn-kgn (pause)” penetrated my securely fastened tent doors, shaking the wood floor below and causing every hair on my fetal-positioned body to stand on end.
I began to cry. Memories of childhood camping trips spent sleeping in our car flashed through my head, and I considered waking the camp leader to request a different tent. Preferably, the kind that rhymes with “SchMarriott.” But instead, I curled deeper into my sleeping bag.
Your “kgn-kgn-kgn-kgn-kgn (pause) kgn-kgn-kgn-kgn-kgn (pause)” continued to pierce my ears.
As I turned to my side to muffle the sound with my pinkies in my ears nearly touching each other in the middle of my skull, I crowned you “Most Irritating” in my own personal Boy Scout Camp Pageant going on in my head all weekend.
Your “kgn-kgn-kgn-kgn-kgn (pause) kgn-kgn-kgn-kgn-kgn (pause)” reached beyond my air-tight ear canal seal.
I fumbled through my duffle bag in the dark for the moldable silicone ear plugs Dave had sent with me and shoved them in as far as they would go, cursing his name for having the audacity to sleep soundly in our bed while I suffered in the woods.
Your “kgn-kgn-kgn-kgn-kgn (pause) kgn-kgn-kgn-kgn-kgn (pause)” blasted right through the ear plugs.
I reached back into the bag and pulled out the rest of the moldable silicone ear plugs in the package, wrapping and molding them around each ear both inside and out. I may not be an Eagle Scout, but I’ve had two semesters of college physics and I know how sound travels.
It was then, when I had completed forming my vibration-proof, sound-absorbing, Princess-Leia-like silicone earmuffs stuck to my head, that I forgave you for leaving your C-PAP at home.
The steady stream of chainsaw buzzing ceased. My eyes gently shut. My pulse slowed. My muscles relaxed. And I drifted off to sleep.
No thanks to you, of course.
And so, the next time you decide to grace a 35-tent campsite with your gnarly, ear-stinging presence, I would highly recommend, in the spirit of friendship, consulting with your ENT about getting your air passage roto-rootered before you come.
Because next time, I’m bringing more than silicone earmuffs to silence you.
Very Truly Yours,
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Dear Sassy Britches,