2003
Sysmistress: "Do you want to go to the Cub Scout Family Camp Out?"
Me: "No."

2004
Sysmistress: "Do you want to go to the Cub Scout Family Camp Out?"
Me: "Hells, no."

2005
Sysmistress: "Do you want to go to the Cub Scout Family Camp Out?"
Me: "For the love of all that is good and holy, no."

2006
Sysmistress: "Do you want to go to the Cub Scout Family Camp Out?"
Me: "I choose not to be voluntarily homeless, not even for a night."

2007
Sysmistress: "Do you want to go to the Cub Scout Family Camp Out?"
Me: "Have I ever given you any reason to believe that I would enjoy that?"
Sysmistress: "Fuck you. We're going."

Driving to the camp site, there was progressively larger roadkill each quarter-mile. Squirrels. A skunk. A raccoon. A badger. A deer. Yes, a half a deer carcass in the middle of the road. Fuck. I have an irrational fear of Sasquatch. Please don't let there be Sasquatch. We got to the site, and there were so many fucking mosquitos that they blot out the sun. And yes, they were in fact, fucking mosquitos, because that's the only way there could've been so damned many of them. We had to apply Deet with a paintbrush. Bees, too. Nothing like eating in the outdoors. Wiping just enough bug spray off of your fingers so you don't taste any. But the smell of it on the rest of your arms still fills your nose.

There was one, precisely one, highlight. Sat in a chair with Chili on my lap (very effective armor against torso mosquito attacks, btw), and we watched the darkening sky until the stars came out. We counted them several times over the next few hours. By the end of the night, we were using sampling techniques, similar to how you guess how many jelly beans are in a jar. Thankfully, the night was a bit hazy, so our naked-eye counting wasn't too out of hand.

The tent got cold and clammy. The boys were restless. I was restelesser. I could not get comfortable on the ground. Still had the stink of the bug spray. Owls. Coyotes. Trains. Damned noisy. I got, maybe, 2 hours of sleep.

In the morning, packing everything up, the mosquitos were out again. Fuck. I was not going to put on any more bug spray. Walking through the trees, I had a need to relieve myself. Being that men piss all over the world, i unzipped and started to go. The mosquitos, sensing skin that was deet-less, swarmed towards my crotch. "Fuckers!" I yelled, as I stopped myself, zipped and swatted them away.

Next time I camp, it'll be in the desert or in the middle of winter. Or I'll be catheterized.

Labels: Duck vagina, Skeeters