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Camping Sucks

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Camping Sucks

Celeste Bleeker, Staff Writer

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“Pack your bags! We’re going camping this weekend!”

My mom starts cleaning and packing while all five of us kids groan and burst into tears. My brothers have a Boy Scouts camping trip and our whole family is going.

Resigned to the fact that I cannot stay at home and sleep and weep at intervals, I decide to come along without complaint and cry at the campsite. It is wretchedly hot and the guy delivering our camper is late, so by the time he arrives, I smell like The Outside, which I haven’t entered into for the past eight months or so.

I soon remember exactly why I haven’t ventured into The Outside when the bugs start to swarm and the air becomes unbearably hot and muggy. Of course, I didn’t realize that the camper didn’t come with sheets and things, so the only warmth I had during the night was a tiny blanket, which I alternately covered my feet and torso with, and a pillow. By the time the temperature had inexplicably dropped into what felt like negative temperatures, I was done with camping. Five hours in and I was already more dead inside than I thought was possible.

When I was rudely woken by the screeching of my baby brother, I knew it was going to be a trying day. Kicking off my blankets, I sluggishly sat up, whacking my head on the low ceiling in the process.  I then proceeded to spend the day reading three books, swinging on a rusty swing set like the overgrown child I am, and then running around in the dark scaring small children.

The next day, we went down to the murky river and contracted multiple diseases by swimming in it. After we got back to our campsite, there were showers to be taken and tents to be packed up. Of course, when we were ready to leave we realized that Cassidy, my ten-year-old sister, was conveniently missing. An hour and a half later of searching in the scorching sun, we found her and her little instigating friend down by the river about a half mile away.

After that, we were home-free and in the refreshing bliss of air conditioning. However,  instead of being able to forget the trauma of the weekend, I promptly acquired the malady know as the stomach flu, compliments of my brother. Thanks, Josiah.

The moral of the story is this: DON’T GO CAMPING. IT ENDS IN PAIN FOR ALL.

Best wishes,

Celeste Bleeker

About the Writer
Celeste Bleeker, Staff Writer

Hi! My name is Celeste Bleeker. I am a junior and I am 16 years old (or so they tell me). This is my first year at Keller and on The Wigwam staff. I enjoy...

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