The deal was struck for me though when he suggested the person I swap with, the lovely JenJen. Now many of you on here will know of JenJen, but many of you may not as well. So I urge you that once you have finished reading her excellent contribution, hop on over to her blog and hammer that follow button hard, for you will be joining up in a holy union to one of the best kept secrets out in the land called blog. Always hilarious, yet able to combine the amusing with the serious, you will certainly not be disappointed for doing so. She always keeps a welcoming and friendly place over there, and you will soon become one of her many frogs. Which in its own right, is reason enough for doing so.
So for today only, I'm lurking over there, and JenJen is kindly posting over here. And I know everyone will make her feel royally welcome.
Anyway, enough of my chit chat. It is my pleasure to introduce to you………………..
Erect Stingers Suck When You’re Prissy.
I want to open by saying I am not the outdoorsy type. At all.
You could say I'm more of a girl who likes her creature comforts: crisp linens atop a down covered mattress, lots of pillows, carpet under my pedicured toes and a glass of water beside my head on my nightstand. I don't own boots for anything other than show. My coat is from Victoria's Secret (one in pink and one in black) and is decidedly not for lingering out-of-doors. I have a white hat and white gloves for when it's cold in the garage.
So probably not a giant shocker that I despise camping; I think God (or Mr. Hilton) made hotels so I wouldn't have to sleep... outside.
Friends have invited us to go
After a while they gave up but ended with this gem: "You know, JenJen, you're depriving your children of the experience of camping!"
Deprivation by Lack of Camping.
News at 11.
You can't win this argument with me. I will not camp or step foot in a tent. I tried it one time years ago, and I was not loving the outdoor shower and considerable lack of plumbing equipment. I didn't particularly care for the mosquitoes, the smelly bug spray or the less-than-comfy beds, either. Okay, the outdoor shower would have been sensual and sexy had it been at a fab Caribbean resort and not at the KOA in the middle of NowhereNearTropical, Michigan and swarming with unsupervised children and bees.
I used to have a FREAK OUT reaction to any black and yellow striped flying bug with a stinger on it's butt. I would run and scream like a girl (k, because I am a girl) when one of those effers would even flirt with my bubble. I heard that bees don't like the water, so run into the
Turns out that is not true.
A falsehood, as it were.
They will follow your ass into that water and buzz around you until you cry and gallop out of the water, knees high (have you ever tried to run in the water? You can't. It's called galloping. Google that.). I galloped right out of the water, across the sand and into the car and shut it up tight. That little overgrown gnat laughed at me and wiggled it's stinger tush at me.
Then my son was stung at the playground down the street from my house. Minding his own business.
And I waged holy chemical warfare on those assholes. I got all "mama bear" and started thrashing about with a can of RAID, giant shoes (for the stomping once they fell to their deaths, just to be sure they were goners), and screaming GET OUT OF HERE. SAVE YOUR SEEELLLLFFFF!
I'm cured of the bees.
Bring it and your stinger asses...I dare ya.
I won't be using these boots to stomp them, no. These boots....they're for show.