It’s hard for me to believe that I used to love camping.
And I don’t mean the kind of camping where you travel around in an air-conditioned luxury RV.
I mean the kind of camping where you either pitched a tent or bunked up in a cabin.
Now, the closest thing I do that even compares to camping is when I stay with dear friends in their home on the farm.
Camping became less attractive to me when I hit puberty and realized I liked boys.
Before that, I had no problem waking up with a Phyllis Diller hairdo — (for those of you too young to know who Phyllis Diller is, Google her), wearing a hand-painted macaroni necklace or walking around with calamine lotion all over my bug-bitten legs.
But when boys came into focus and the thought of having no electrical outlet for the blow dryer or telephone service came across my mind, camping became a thing…
