It’s that time of year again – Spring has sprung, the school year’s coming to a close and thoughts are turning to…Summer vacation!  Visions of tropical beaches, oceanic adventures, road trips.  Then, invariably someone throws out the “C” word…

Yep, you guessed it.  CAMPING.

So…camping.  The great outdoors.  Communing with nature.  “Roughing it.” And that’s where you lose me.  Look, to me roughing it means no turn-down service, no chocolates on my pillow.  Why the hell would I want to spend my precious vacation time sleeping on the ground with just a paper thin layer of nylon and some down feathers between my ass and whatever creepy crawlies are living in the dirt? Hell, I don’t even like the ground floor bedroom in my house.  And showering in a public shower? After spending a day hiking or whatever other outdoorsy things I’d be forced to do?  (So I’m sweaty, smelling of a mixture of sunscreen, Deet, and B.O. and I can’t even take a shower without a pair of damn flip flops.  Or take a shit sitting down).  And sleeping in a freakin’ bag?  On the ground?Protected by a tent pitched less than perfectly? (Oh, was I supposed to use ALL the poles?)   Seriously?  This is your idea of a fucking VACATION ?  (That word-I do not think it means what you think it means)

Now you proponents of camping will be all defensive here telling me how amazing it is. Being out in nature, peace and quiet.  Really?  Have you heard what a thousand frogs sound like at night?  How about a million crickets?  Or that one mosquito that keeps dive-bombing your head?  Oh, yes. Very peaceful.  Best sleep you’ll ever have, I’ve been told.  Yeah.  Know why you sleep like the dead when you’re camping?  Because:  a) you’re freakin’ exhausted from all the outdoorsy fun and/or fighting with your tent; or b) you’re freakin’ passoutdrunk from all the liquor you consumed because there’s nothing else to do once you finish having all that outdoorsy fun (everyone knows what’s in all those coolers, Camper Van Beethoven, and it ain’t that croquet set you bought at the last Walmart you passed).  But hey, what do I know?  I’m from Brooklyn.  Police sirens and car alarms are lullabies to me.

Here’s where you say: “But what about all that awesome stuff? ”   Like…what specifically?  The trees?  Got some right in my backyard (hammock and all.  and I HAVE slept on it. yes, outside. for an hour. in the daylight).  What else you got?  The stars ? Yeah, pretty sure I got them too.  They’re kind of there for everyone.  and anyway YOU can’t see ’em from your little campsite under the dense canopy of the forest (like that?  I read it in a book once).  I know, you’re saying…”Yes, but when you’re camping, you get to sleep out there with all of that…”  Yeah, so can I.  just with a roof over my head.  on a soft bed.  And all that fresh air?   Well, we have windows for that.

I’m sorry.  I just don’t get the allure.  Maybe it’s me.  I’m a city girl.  Remember ZsaZsa in Green Acres?  That’s me. (I mean, c’mon people!  Concrete is your friend! I don’t want to have to change out of my  4-inch heels to walk to my freakin’ mailbox.  My mantra, adopted from an old acquaintance: “Outside is just a place I go through to get to another inside.”  Let me give you a little insight.  I once fell out of a tree when I was a kid.  My family’s response was “What the hell were you doing climbing a tree? You’re from Brookkyn!”  Apparently even they they forgot one grows there).  Don’t get me wrong.  I LOVE trees and flowers (and puppies and sunsets).  I LOVE all bodies of water (except the one in that empty flower pot on my porch where the mosquitoes are breeding). I LOVE dining al fresco.  I LOVE a starry sky.  And when I’m done lovin’ all these things, I LOVE to take a long hot shower and get into my cozy bed, gaze up at the ceiling fan, and listen to the hum of the a/c,  and if I wake up during the night I can walk (sans hiking boots and flashlight) into my en suite bathroom and sit down to have a pee. 

Oh, and FYI, I tried camping once.  Worst night of my life.  Let’s just say that camping and claustrophobic girls from Brooklyn don’t mix.

Really, what are you camping folk trying to prove?  That you can live in harmony with nature? (Can’t you just have a picnic in the park?)  Or is “setting up camp” like driving a stake in the ground?  Your own little fiefdom?  An “It’s good to be the king” kinda thing?  Oh, you little colonialist, you!

I’m thinking there’s a bit of a survivalist thing happening here. (It’s not just you. we’re obviously obsessed with it.  according to cable television)   Personally I don’t feel the need to prove that I can survive in the wild.  I’m not worried about being ready for the end of days or the zombie apocalypse.  I’m not a “dress rehearsal” kinda girl.  I’m more of a “when the time comes I’ll kick ass” kinda girl.  Besides, I don’t know if I’d want to be one of the last ones standing.  Have you seen those Doomsday Preppers?  Yeah.  Just sayin.’

I look at it this way:  We humans have come so far.  We build houses to protect us from danger and the elements.  We invented indoor plumbing (may the universe bless the soul of John Harington and his progeny).  The mattress.  Carpets.  HVAC.  Steps!  Camping is like a big “fuck you” to all those who came before us, who had vision, who worked hard so that we could live safely and comfortably (and get a good night’s sleep).  Well I WON’T DO IT!  I will not snub my nose at those shining achievements.  NOT I!  I embrace them and I pledge that I shan’t let a day go by that I don’t use them all and give thanks.

So I think I’ll pass on the camping trip. It’s ok, you go on without me.  Dont worry, I’ll manage.