Mike and I love Columbus so much that we celebrated him with a little beach camping.
Beach camping is exactly like mountain camping except you have to shark-proof your campsite. That can be a little tricky.
We had a bit of a close call when we spilled some red wine and worried that the sharks might confuse it for blood, but we covered the spill with a dense beach towel and felt confident about our problem solving skills.
While we were shark-proofing our campsite and listening to the ocean, I kept thinking about all of the reasons I adore camping.
I love camping mostly for my hair. You read right. Camping is where my hair is free to dance and scream and behave badly. My hair loves to express itself, like graffiti on my head. Just as people take their dogs to the dog park and vampires go to the forest to hunt, I take my hair camping.
My hair is most itself when I’m camping. The sun makes it blonder, the humidity makes it curlier, and camping makes it acceptable, like how your mom calls you pretty through your awkward middle school years.
Mike says things like, “If I can love you when your hair looks like this, of course I love you when…” This makes me feel really good, like maybe camping hair helps my marriage.
Here is a picture of what camping hair looks like:
I camp for the trail mix. Not the healthy kind. No, I’m talking about the crack cocaine kind with chocolate chips and toffee peanuts. Don’t even get me started on M&M’s.
I once heard that a serving size of trail mix is a quarter cup.
Really!? I eat that much straight out of the bulk bins at Whole Foods when no one is looking. Maybe that serving size is appropriate for lunches at a school for ants. Maybe it is appropriate for trick-or-treaters who are old or don’t deserve the good candy. Maybe a quarter cup is meant for babies who prematurely grow teeth.
I don’t know. I just can’t deal with a quarter cup. I can’t.
I camp for the camp wine. Camp wine is regular wine that you drink straight out of the bottle because you are barbaric and wild like that. Camping turns everyone into a minimalist. Cups are unnecessary when you are camping, just like deodorant and mirrors and toilet paper. Camp wine tastes better because backwash brings out the tannins. It’s true. Someone told me that once. Or maybe I made it up. Either way, it’s a real thing.
Also, for the record, this Jam Jelly or Jam Jar or Jelly Jam or whatever-its-called wine is amazing. It tastes like jam… like wine flavored jam.
The ultimate reason I love camping so much is because true outdoorsmen only wear things with elastic waistbands. It is awesome. I wish more people were outdoorsmen. I wish more of my pants had elastic waistbands.
No one makes fun of elastic clothing when they are defended by things like The North Face or Patagonia. Even things like drawstring sweatpants and tube socks are justified in camping. The only other places you can find such radical acceptance is in rehab or pregnancy. Neither one of those places offer camp wine.
Also, while camping, no one expects you to wear things like skinny jeans or a fedora. This is important since my camping hair really hates fedoras and trail mix shrinks my skinny jeans. I hate it when trail mix does that.
So for all of these reasons…
I love running around in stretchy clothes, sharing a bottle of camp wine, and inviting the static electricity of the tent to craft my hair into something truly remarkable.
There really is nothing better. Except maybe shcooting. Shcooting is better than everything ever.
Happy birthday Columbus! Thanks for stealing America!