Camping season is coming to an end, and thank goodness because I don’t think I could bare to look into the faces of my fellow-campers until at least after the holidays. Not after what happened.
All I have to say is… Thanks Noah. Your sweet little uncensored mouth has done it again.
A little while back, we were at a group campground, enjoying the great outdoors. Roasting weenies. Fishing. Watching movies in the tent on Dad’s iPad. Getting as smelly and gross as we wanted because, hey, that’s what you do when you’re camping. All hygiene goes out the window, and it’s not only acceptable, it’s expected.
This particular camping trip was to last a week at an established campground, and after day three of no showers and no deodorant, the big cinderblock shower/bathroom building started whispering sweet invitations to us… beckoning to come rid ourselves of our stench… Begging us to stop making the world around it smell worse than an… outhouse. I looked at the building and thought to myself,yeah, it’s time for a shower.
So, a couple days later, Noah and I made our way to the barely known edifice, towels in hand, and nothing but a bar of Dove soap for men. Cause we’re men. And while we need the calming moisturizer of Dove, we don’t need the girly feeling that comes with it.
So, into the shower we go. We both strip buck naked (except for our flip-flops), lock ourselves into the first available stall, and start lathering up.
Half-way through the shower, Noah looks up at me desperate. “Dad, I really gotta go potty!”
>> I wrote this entry and published it on my Babble Voices blog. Read the rest of it on Danoah Unleashed >>