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The Dreadful Camping Trip

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Camping.

That one word makes me shiver.

I despise camping; I absolutely hate it, more than anything in the world. There is nothing good that comes out of it, except for s’mores. Think of it my way for just a minute. You are 13, and your parents tell you that you have to go camping during the summer, with them, and your annoying dweeb of a brother. You ask in an astonished voice, “In a tent?!” And they say, “No, we bought a camper.” So, you get all excited, thinking it’s going to be a HUGE camper with bunk beds and a TV in it. Then you see the camper.

This “camper” is a tiny little pop-up with a refrigerator up to my knee, and only 2 beds. So, you’re freaking out, and then it hits you. 2 beds. 4 people. Dad and Mom. Me and………

No way.

Cody. An obnoxious little dork who thinks he is the coolest person to walk the Earth, when really he is so annoying. But that is what brothers are supposed to do… right? No way am I even getting close to him. Yuck. I need at least a closet or something! My own bed is a must. So, I have an argument with the ones who started this whole mess by buying a camper and they tell me I can have the third bed. Yeah, I don’t know what they are talking about, but I hate to break it to you, there are only two beds. Then they go to the “kitchen table” and fold it down, pulling out three cushions. So, I look at this “bed” that I can’t even lay straight in and decide that it is better than nothing, but then I think, I could be in my own room, with my own bed, in my own house. Camping stinks. And we have just gotten started. Who knows what’s going to happen now.

They really are trying to ruin my life. It’s like their mission. Every Fourth of July I go to the parade and fireworks with my friends. Guess where I am right now? Well, here’s a hint, I’m not at the freaking parade, or the freaking fireworks, with my freaking friends.

Oh my freaking gosh.

These evil people who I have to call my “parents” are so…ugh. I swear they want to ruin my life. So we are camping. I am bored out of my mind. Someone, please, come save me. I will call out to you. Kristi?! Shelby?! Emily?! Please come take me away. Right about now I am thinking jail is better than this. Shoot me. Just kill me now. I need a break from this. I am going to go sit down. More on this later.
Okay, I’m better now. But can’t you feel the pain I’m going through? My life is falling into a hole of misery right now. Camping is the worst. I worked all day on my jump shot. I worked all day long. ALL DAY LONG! Ok, I think you get it. But seriously, this is torture. Child abuse. I’m praying for a king-sized bed, a closet, and a bathroom, in Florida. Yeah that works. We are going to bingo apparently. Please help me. Old people playing bingo is not my idea of a fun time. I feel sick.

Oh my gosh!

This is a good, oh my gosh! I survived bingo! I almost got hit by an old lady and her purse because I won and she didn’t, but I survived. Thank the lord above me. I love you God. I literally love you SO SO SO much! Thank you.

Oh no.

We are going to go camping again. We have just gotten home, and they have already planned my next weekend.

This stinks. With a capital “S.” So now this whole camping thing is becoming a regular thing. No. I refuse. Even though I know I am guaranteed to lose this argument. This is worse than getting run over by a car. Please, I don’t want to die this young. Help me! There are bugs everywhere, awful showers, no space, and dirty bathrooms…outside. The only things I like are the pool and shooting hoops. But, I can do all of these things at home, all while coming home to my own room.

Wait…..

It can’t be. My mom says that we are done with camping after this next weekend of torture! What a relief that she finally came to her senses. Unfortunately, I can almost guarantee that next week we will be going camping…again.





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