Naturally, the weekend that everyone selected for "cold weather" camping seems to have broken a few cold weather records. I am still trying to get warm!
Otherwise, I had a pretty good time,but the good stuff is too boring, so let's get to the whiny stuff!
I didn't feel _too_ old, which is saying something, as I suspect I was the only one there over the age of 30. The Man hits the big three-oh next month, and it's all downhill from there, including two brothers who came with another young-ish couple. The oldest brother was 22, and his little bro was a sweet, blond and babyfaced 17. I just wanted to feed him spaghetti and tuck him into bed like a little baby. I suspect that this is proof that my hormones are in overdrive.
The dogs were, surprisingly, fine. Everyone seemed to love them. They were tethered to the truck in the daytime, and then got to come near the campfire with us at night.
There were a few potential bombs that I just defused or ignored. We played Apples to Apples, which is the bomb diggity- I love that game. However there was a lot of this: "Ok...I don't know who this is." And then they show me a card, because I am the resident old woman of the hills, so I should know. And the name on that card? Cary Grant. CARY GRANT. AIIIIIIIGH!
Also, my husband's brother's wife (not to be confused with my brother's wife) kept saying freakish things, but with perfect candor. Example A: "Your hair is so beautiful. It makes me want to kill you in your sleep." Uncomfortable Pause "Just kidding!!!" Or Example B: "You are so cute all the time. It's really annoying! But you're nice, so I can't hate you. Uncomfortable PauseJust kidding!!!" And then she would laugh.
And I would try to chalk it up as verbal diarrhea instead of outright bitchery. She's kind of like Luna Lovegood, in a way, but every occasion where we hang out is rife with comments like this, and she just sort of blurts this stuff out
Another thing, the guys on this trip are techie guys. There was a lot of "My router is bigger than your router" or whatever. And the subject of feminism came up, and the group consencus was pretty much, "bitter man-hating lesbians with armpit hair, blah blah blah". Until I spoke up and said that I was a feminist. Since I was the only woman there wearing makeup, and since I am neither visibly hairy, man-hating, nor bitter, they backed off a little after that.
In fact....well, what can I say. MAMA HAS STILL GOT IT! Mostly because I am stupid and oblivious, but hey.
Yeah. I forgot that if you baby and feed a 17 year old boy, they inevitably try to follow you home. I didn't really think about it, but we played a lot of games on the camping trip- Apples to Apples and Association, and since he was usually sitting next to The Man and I, I tried to use cues that were within his realm of experience. Partially because I am nice and I could see that he was feeling awkward, and partly because I died a little inside every time he asked "What's Devo? Is that like TiVo?"
Add to that the fact that everyone (Including the 17-year old, I am guessing) was drinking.
We were playing Association, and my brother-in-law said something like, "Dork", so I said The Man's name, (because that's one of our pet names for each other), and he grinned and said, "My wife is a bitch!" and we both laughed. And then it was my pet 17-year-old's turn, and he said, "Can I have her then?"
Of course, everyone found this hilarious, mainly because A. Everyone is DRUNK, B. I am a little less than exactly twice his age, and C. The Man is twice his size and is known to be extremely posessive and could snap him like a toothpick.
And OK, I was secretly delighted. (So much for feminism- Flattery will evidently get you quite a bit of slack!)
Delight turned into slightly drunken trepidation when I was staying up late with the girls and the little guy attached himself to me like a barnacle. The Man was visibly wary, yet amused by this, and lurked within our tent with the flap open so he had a clear view of the proceedings. As soon as I finished the last gulp of my drink, I made the most graceful exit possible, and he went off to his tent by himself.
The Man: I hope you are proud of yourself. Poor little guy.
Me: heehee! He's my BABY.
The Man: How wasted are you?
The Man: Yeah. This is hilarious.
Me: That little boy thinks I am HOT. HOTT!
The Man: Sweetheart, he's 17. He thinks farm animals are hot. He's probably gone off to hump a tree or something.
The Man: (relenting) I think you're hot too, you know. Not that you care.
Me: Hey, obviously, I do care. I am in the tent with YOU, so you have nothing to complain about.
The Man: OK, watching him try to hit on you was kind of cute.
Me: I actually found a semi-gallant 17-year-old. Too bad that the 17-year-old girls don't appreciate gallantry.
The Man: I hate to tell you, but the predatory women will have him jaded and bitter by the time he turns 21.
Me: Well, that sucks.
The Man: I always thought so.
We got up this morning and packed up the caravan, because The Man had to work today. My little 17-year-old ran over to me and gave me a huge hug.
"I hope I see you again soon! You were so cool. I am going to miss you!"
And all I could think of was, "Awwww.....They're so cute when they're that age!"