(I wrote this Saturday night when I was feeling particularly sorry for myself that we weren’t at the Hyatt Regency)
It’s freezing. We’re in a tent. It might rain. I’m wearing a knit hat and I don’t wear hats because I look like a potato. I hope no one I know sees me. We had hot dogs for dinner that saw no refrigeration this afternoon because we didn’t bring a cooler. Luckily the bear box was at 40deg so the blistering hot hot dogs were encased in hot dog icicle buns. Anyways it kept our hands warm because we had no plates. The fire kept my front warm, but my behind was still at 40deg. My sleeping pad is busted and won’t inflate. In the sleeping bag, as long as I keep my hat on, my toes are warm, so I actually might be able to sleep. As long as a bear doesn’t come along. I already had to make an emergency trip to the bear box after I’d taken off my shoes because I forgot about the cookie in my backpack. Oh yeah and tomorrow morning will be COLDER.
This sob story brought to you by the romance of sleeping in tents.
(Yeah, yeah says DH)