As we pack for a trip this weekend I suddenly remembering that particular movie and television trope: some prissy person – man or woman – is dragged along camping and they take an inappropriate amount of fussy clothing or accoutrement with them – out of ignorance, or pure revulsion re: the prospect of “roughing it”.
I mean to sum it up, really – I’m Vince. Ralph is Howard Moon:
But the thing is, my man and I have two kids to account for and like – for real? I’m hardly going to feel okay unless I’ve got them set up with individually-packed, pristine, labeled flannels-in-Ziploc so they can wash up both night and morning!
It’s only a little after ten, but packing to camp is tedious. And weirdly kind of lumpy and uncool. Everything we pack, I’m thinking how when we get home I gotta painstakingly wash and air-dry it all.