I come from a family that strongly believes in the necessity of indoor plumbing. I tell people that I am very fond of electricity, and I am—but I think I could learn to live by candlelight as long as the toilet still flushed. Our idea of roughing it consisted of a "cabin" that was really part of a resort. There was dingy wood paneling and a couch from the 60s—so it was rough! But seriously, this caught the gist of the idea of separating oneself from the grind of everyday life without needing an outhouse.

Due in part to this affection for running water, I had safely gone almost 25 whole years without ever camping. As children, Charlie and I had a tent that we set up in the living room and spread out in sleeping bags while we watched Happy Days reruns through the flap; I feel that this was adequate camping experience. Also, my cousin and I did try to use the tent outside (in the backyard) one time, but we were sprinting to the house by 9:00 because there were unnatural noises outside the tent (well, unnatural to us)! I've never been tempted to enter a tent as an adult. It's just silly.

—All this buildup…when is she going to get to the point?
—Now.

Nick camped with this family as a child. By the time I met him, he had a neat little pile of camping equipment. I tried to get out of the camping and kayaking trip that he and his friends had planned before I came into the picture…but he wouldn't take "I have to wash my hair" as a valid reason for not joining in: so not sensitive to subtleties. So, I went.

It wasn't all bad. There were parts that I really liked, and parts that I really didn't (read paragraph on plumbing)…I have to admit that he did offer to drive me to the big bathroom complex with the flushing toilets whenever I felt the urge. We went twice that year. I was able to put Nick off from camping for the next couple years. He must have thought my hair was really dirty with as often as I had to wash it! But, in 2009, he came to me with his pleading puppy dog eyes asking if I would camp with him a single night. I couldn't say no: my hair smelled like a salon.

This was right after my back pain became unbearable and days before it was diagnosed. I didn't mind the one night of camping, I will admit (but it still seemed like an awful lot of work for a vacation). My biggest complaint was that it was hard for me to get in and out of the tent, and this argument held for awhile because he knew how much it hurt for me to bend that way. When he needed more reasons why camping wasn't an option, I told him the tent was too small. When the statute of limitations wore out on that one, I told him that the air mattress was uncomfortable.

Really, this was all just code for "I don't wanna" (even though everything I told him was also true).

Enter this year. He wanted to go camping for a couple of nights with a bunch of friends for his birthday weekend. I was scheduled for surgery that would essentially squash the rest of our summer activities. Between the two extenuating circumstances (birthday+guilt), I consented. I think he saw this as a time to finally make me fall in love with camping.

So, he bought this:



He was going to set it up in the living room before leaving to figure out the setup, but he couldn't because the tent was bigger than our living room. It has three rooms, fits 10 people, and the door is tall enough that I (with my shortness) barely have to tilt my head to walk in. Also, he borrowed two cots for us to try out before buying our own.

All of my clever reasons! Squashed, just like that!

I feel my grip sliding on this tug of war. He's definitely winning…it took me years to come up with actual parts of camping that I dislike. I think I may have to go back to the old "but dirt is so…DIRTY!" Because, honestly, if he would just clear the area of dirt and bugs and sanitize everything in Lysol, I'd probably be a very happy camper!