Well, since I’m apparently not afraid to seem like a prissy bitch and I’ve told you about how I became scared of hostels, let me tell you about how I became afraid of camping.
You’re probably thinking, “Oh, she must have had some traumatic experience or something. Maybe she got chased by a bear!”*
Guys, I’ve never been camping.
I know, I know, what kind of person am I?
SIDENOTE: I’ve also never seen any of the Lord of the Rings movies. What are you gonna do about it?
Camping looks fun.
But here’s what worries me:
What am I gonna eat?
I’m a gluten-free vegan. Yes, I could still grill up a mean tofu steak and some veggies, but also…
How am I gonna wash my hands constantly?
I’m a bit of a germaphobe. I like things to be clean. Really clean. I like washing my hands lots. Especially when I’m cooking and/or eating. And also…
Where am I gonna pee?
I sure as hell am not gonna pee outdoors, y’all. I don’t even know if I know how to do that properly. Need I remind you that I won’t even pee in some public washrooms? Forget outhouses – unless it’s an emergency.** This point could be on a constant loop with the previous point – how am I gonna wash my hands constantly? And speaking of hygiene…
How will I shower daily?
Yep. Daily. In fact, I usually shower twice a day: once in the morning and once after the gym. I can’t stand not showering. I feel all grimy and sticky and weird about it, even after a day. Plus…
How am I gonna look pretty?
I do not look good without showering. It’s one of the few downsides of having short hair. You can’t just sleep on it and then wake up and look fabulous like those jerks with perfect long hair. It goes everywhere. Some days, if you’re lucky as fuck, it can be endearing. Most days, though, you just look like a crazy person. A dirty crazy person.
And now, what may be my biggest camping worry – and quite possibly the most stereotypically girly one…
I do NOT like bugs. Like, I don’t even like watching bugs on television, never mind having bugs anywhere near me. Sometimes, in the summer, I get a mosquito in my bedroom and I literally cannot sleep until I find it and kill it. If I don’t, my imagination goes crazy thinking about everything that could happen while I’m sleeping: the mosquito may bite me a million times, or fly into my ear and find a way to kill me via my brain (or it’ll just burrow in there and I’ll wake up one day and be myself but slightly off, because the mosquito will be pinching a brain nerve or something), or I’ll just choke on it in my sleep. I’ve woken up coughing. I know what’s up. And I don’t like it.
Basically, sleeping in a tent that bugs have access to = NOT OKAY.
I could go on and on, but I think I’ve made myself look bad enough. I have to admit that despite all of these worries, camping does have an appeal. I’ve always dreamed of being a little more outdoorsy. And outdoorsy guys are sexy. You know the ones. They’re kind of rugged and they know how to start fires and climb mountains and shit. (So hot.)
Where was I?
So here’s what I’ve learned from a lifetime of being camping-curious:
(A) I should either go “camping” in an RV instead of the real deal, or
(B) I should go real-camping with someone who is very, very, very patient.
Form an orderly line, folks – no need to fight over my camping company.
*But remember when I got maced? I sure do.
**Even then, I would have to assess the level of emergency, and I’d say it would have to be an 8+ on a scale from 1-10 for me to use an outhouse.