Camping

At some point over the past few months I got it in my head that I needed to go camping. The experience I imagined would include hot dogs, s'mores, a little bit of hiking, and life-changing conversation around camp fires. We would be isolated in the woods (with just a little threat of being attacked by bears to make it exciting) and a dock that we could sit on to watch the sunset and dip our toes in the water from. I insisted that last weekend would be the perfect time to see this fantasy to fruition.

But the reality was a State Park full of youth groups and RVs (isolated), we're vegetarian (hotdogs), we forgot to buy marshmallows (s'mores), and we're not very good at starting camp fires.

That's when our tent neighbors, a small group of professional dancers (not the take-off-your clothes-kind but more like the Dancing With the Stars kind), came over and offered us some kindling and lighter fluid. We became fast friends and wound up playing Farkle and Uno into the evening. We shared popcorn, a bottle of Raw Power shiraz and lots of laughs. We were never afraid of bears but at one point we did become suspicious of our slasher-movie setting.

So, it wasn't the perfectly art directed camping trip that could double as an Urban Outfitters catalog that I was expecting - but it was still unexpectedly picture perfect.