Good Morning Everyone!
Today as you’re reading this I am probably very VERY grumpily getting ready to go camping. It’s not that I don’t like camping… I LOVE getting drunk around a raging fire. It’s not a fire to me unless it’s so hot it a) melts holes in your fleece blanket, b) melts the soles of your shoes when you put them on nearby rocks and c) forces you to strip even if it’s raining. Do you know that if your fire is big and hot enough, it will evaporate the rain before it hits your head? True fact! Anyway, I’ll be getting ready grumpily because my husband will be in a big rush, yet he’ll probably be unprepared, I’ll have stayed up way too late the night before and I’ll be dead tired and my dogs go NUTS when we leave for camping. My big dog BubbaCharles was literally so excited last time we went that he wagged his tail so hard he split the end open and proceeded to wag it all over the house, flinging dog blood all over our walls. It was infuriating. And have you ever tried to get a wagging tail to stop bleeding? Imagine a head wound, adding the centrifugal force of him wagging it maniacally and you just about have it. They DON’T stop bleeding.
Then he rides in the truck up in the front seat with us (and this is like a ~2.5 foot tall dog at the shoulders and he weighs like 80 lbs) and slobbers allllllll over me the entire ride there. Plus, he never sits down so we have this HUGE dog STANDING in the middle of the F150 bench seat. We’re a driving hazard. If you see us, turn around and go the other way! This year my husband has promised to TRY to put him in the trailer in his kennel so we’ll see if that works out. Besides Bubba, the little dog, Minnie pants her stank-tacular breath all over me and makes about 40 circles on my lap before she’ll finally just lay down. It is definitely NOT a joyful occasion. But, once we get there things get immensely worse (as he whips me directly in the face with his very likely bloody tail as soon as he sees all of the other 30+ people we go camping with). Things get a little better once we let him out of the truck, my husband cusses up a storm backing the trailer up “just right” into our spot and I break into the jello shots and/or the cookies that I am definitely going to bring and/or some long islands. By this point I’m covered in slobber (even tho I put a towel around me like a damn toga I still feel gross) and dog hair and so mad at the dogs I’d just about give them away to anyone who asked. I’m sure I look like a raging lunatic by the time I hop out of the truck and everyone who is there before us is jolly as hell and already drunk and I just shoot daggers out of my eyes. People are like “Oh, did you have a nice drive?” and I just growl out a barely audible “no.” I’m sure they think I’m bi-polar because I’m usually fairly happy but who cares… if they were in a confined space with 2 crazy dogs and a semi-grumpy husband, they wouldn’t be that happy either! Good thing we bring plenty of alcohol and I enjoy wearing my scrappiest clothing for a weekend. Once we get there, camping isn’t too bad but the “getting there” is a nightmare! Wish me luck!!
Nail polish post to come….