My husband, son and daughter all love camping, but I’m a cranky camper — I fully admit it.
Camping just sets me on edge. I dislike feeling grubby and sweaty and itchy from all of my swollen bug bites. I dislike waking up in a humid sweatbox of a tent trailer that smells like pee. I dislike spending day after day outdoors, with little reprieve from the elements. I dislike trying to cook on a camp stove and wash dishes under a rusty spigot.
We just returned from an annual camping trip with good friends to Yogi Bear’s Jellystone Park. Our friends have a spectacular nearly-new camper with air-conditioning, a huge fridge and freezer, a stove, a microwave and — most importantly — a bathroom with a toilet, sink and tub/shower.
Us? We’re the ones rocking the tan and brown Jayco tent trailer circa 1990 — the exact one I camped in as a child, since my dad handed it down to me four years ago. It’s certainly better than sleeping on an air mattress on the ground, and … well, there’s power so I can charge my phone. That’s about it.
All weekend long, my dear husband pestered me about upgrading to a luxurious camper like the one our friends have …