My mother, old Johnny Appleseed herself, loved to take us camping as kids. I didn’t like it then and I don’t like it now, much to my wife’s chagrin. Emily is a country mouse and loves the idea of camping out underneath the stars. I’ve adopted the Woody Allen front, complaining about mosquitos and owls and nature.
About the only thing that sounds appealing about camping is making smores, and I don’t even love them either. I mean, what good are graham crackers anyway? But some people are knuts for smores (fortunately, if I ever get a craving I don’t need to go camping to have ’em). My wife thinks they are heavenly.
What about you? Do smores melt you where it counts?