The penny has dropped! Bear with me here, and I will fill you in on all the sordid details.
My husband and I met online, or I should say, almost didn’t meet online because of one very crucial difference: our views on camping.
He had posted that he’d love someone to burn dinner with, as well as a travel and camping companion, and I, a decided non-camper, immediately blew him off. That’s not a deal breaker, he messaged back. I am quite happy to go camping alone with my kids.
“Have you ever gone camping?” he asked me once our relationship was well established.
“Once,” I shrugged. It had been okay, but not an experience I wanted to repeat. “With a group of friends when I was sixteen.”
“Oh, so you’ve never experienced camping with a Boy Scout?” I agreed to give it a try (I’m way too preoccupied with pleasing others).
We filled two vehicles with kids and gear and drove to a nearby campground. I watched as tents were strategically set up – one for us, then a cooking shelter, and a dining tent, and the children’s habitats beyond. Everyone seemed to be thrilled by the adventure, with exception of me, who sat bewildered by the effort it was taking so that we could ‘rough’ it.
The setting, I had to admit, was breathtaking: high upon a hill, nestled among the trees, overlooking a sandy beach with the waves lapping within our ears reach. Apart from rain the first day, the weather had cleared, offering us beautiful sunny days with a gentle breeze to add to the perfection.
Two days in, as the children played on the beach and we sat sipping wine, he asked me what I thought. I surveilled the set-up and suddenly had a realization. Ric and I liked to dream about life’s possibilities, and one of our dreams centered around a house. I had described in detail how I would love a house, set above the water’s edge, with a great room in the center, a wing for the master on one side and bedrooms for the children or guests on the other.
Just the way our campsite had been arranged!
I looked at Ric accusingly. “When I described my dream home, I apparently forgot to mention that I also wanted floors, walls, and a roof!”
After three days, I’d had enough of camping and was happy we’d only planned a four-day excursion. It was understood that we would not be repeating the experience.
Or so I thought, but the more I ponder my husband’s sudden obsession with motor homes, I am coming to the realization that RVing is just a trumped-up version of camping. Am I wrong? Is this not just a ruse to lure me back to nature, strip me of my princess tendencies, and force me to embrace the wonders of camping once again?
Oh, I am on to him.
Maybe we should watch the movie first: