Review of Camping

People are usually surprised when I tell them that I love camping. This is because I have zero tolerance for anything with more than six legs. Except for hermit crabs. Hermit crabs are actually really cute. I had some hermit crabs once, but then they died because I didn't take care of them the right way. I mean, I tried, but... it didn't work out. I still feel bad because that was only, like, a year and a half ago. It's not like I was 5 or some irresponsible age. I was like, 20. Whoops.

Sob stories/I'm a terrible person!

The point of that guilt-speech was that I strongly dislike bugs. I'm not afraid of them, I just really really REALLY don't want them to touch me. That's not a phobia thing, it's a touch-y thing. There's a difference. Theoretically, I don't care about the bug existing on the other side of the room. It's more about the likelihood of the bug tripping and falling on my skin. I do not want it touching my skin. It is NON-NEGOTIABLE. It's the same way that normal people don't want to touch other people's pee. It's not scary, it's just gross.

And you know what else? Bugs are rude. They have no concept of personal space. I don't just go around touching random animals, so why do they not grant me the same respect? It's obscene! The whole issue is that they can't just leave you alone. No, they have to get all up in your space. Like I said before, I don't care if the bug is on the other side of the room, or better yet not on this hemisphere. But no, bugs are all like, "Look, a stranger! Let me touch youuuuu." You know what we do with people like that? We LOCK THEM UP. You know why? Because they are weird and creepy. So to are bugs.

I am totally side-tracked right now. Anyways camping!

Despite my whole thing with bugs, camping is actually super fun. I love the campfire, and the marshmallows, and the fact that everyone is disgusting and hasn't showered in god knows when. I guess I just like being dirty. Is that weird? I feel like that's weird.

And the thing about camping is that when you're completely isolated and immersed in nature, you totally get used to the bugs. I think it has to do with exposure. You know how they say the most effective treatment of a phobia is exposure therapy? Although I did just say that it's not a phobia. Maybe I lied. Who knows.

I will now tell a story to illustrate how tough I am:

Once upon a time (I think all my stories start this way), I went to overnight camp when I was 15. We had bunks, but we spent a lot of time hiking and camping out in random places. We'd spend one night camping, then one night in the bunk, then another night camping. At the end of the month, we drove up to Canada and did this 5-day canoeing trip in the middle of nowhere. It was intense.

For the whole 5 days, we carried everything we needed on our backs/in the canoes. Food, clothes, bug spray, cooking equipment, all that stuff. You know how heavy all that stuff is? Really, REALLY heavy. And every so often we'd get to a land crossing, and we'd have to lug all the canoes and packs on foot. It was SO HARD GUYS. I literally thought my back was going to snap in half.

So I'm hiking along, and I'm randomly just by myself on the trail, and I'm carrying this big-ass pack and it hurts like a mofo. And I'm grimy, and disgusting, and it's been like 4 days already and my socks are all wet, and I can't even sit down to rest because I wouldn't be able to get up again by myself.

And then comes along the most hated bug known to mankind: the MOSQUITO.

Mosquitoes are kind of like Canada's ambassadors, I think. At least that's what it felt like.

The mosquito decided that it would be the best idea ever to fly around my face and maybe try to bite my ear. Obviously that is the perfect place to bite someone. It was buzzing in my ear, and I kept trying to shoo it away, but it hurt my back too much to take my hands off the straps of the pack.

So guess what I did.

I SLAPPED it on the side of my FACE.

Let me explain something: I am a person who has jumped out of a moving vehicle to escape a moth. I shriek if I see an ant crawling on me. I can't kill mosquitoes, I can't go into those butterfly houses, and I will actually run into traffic to avoid cicadas. I'm the last person in the world who would willingly kill a mosquito with their face.

But I am also secretly a wild-beast-man who likes to go out and, like, rip up logs with their bare hands or whatever. And they wear plaid and stuff, and eat venison. Except I wouldn't eat venison because I don't like meat. I might be thinking of a lumberjack right now.

Soooo I slapped the mosquito (which also involved slapping myself in the face, by the way), looked at my hand, confirmed that the mosquito was a bloody mush on my palm, and wiped its corpse on my pants. And then I used the same unwashed hands to eat three sandwiches for lunch. Because I am MANLY.