Apr. 24th, 2006
Summer camp.. hated it. I was 11 when my sister and I were shipped off for two weeks at a local camp on a nearby lake. I expected it to be much like the camp show "Salute Your Shorts" that they played on Nickelodeon, but the only thing that seemed the same was the crappy camp songs.
I learned a lot of things that summer, much that I didn't want to know, like girls shave their legs, and more disturbingly, grow hair on their crotches. The latter I found out from an early-bloomer in my cabin who for some reason liked to "show off the goods" in the middle of the cabin in her ceremonious underpants changing. That really creeped me out, I wouldn't even let people see me applying deoderant, which I hid inside my pillow.
With cabin mates like that, who needs sleep? So I didn't. The first night there I laid in my bed, and listened to the squeaks of my fellow campers' bunks and plastic mattresses until the reveille sounded the next morning.
Camp life ended up being completely structured, not unlike school, so I found myself dragged from one tedious task to another in a zombie like state. Eventually I felt like I was going to collapse, and one of the counsellors had to take me to the infirmary. On the way there I started getting tunnel vision so I wanted to lay down, and did, under a nice big tree. The counsellor tried to tell me that the camp's dog, a golden retriever who I later noticed would hump any seated camper in site, had recently peed where my head was.
I told her that I did not care.
We eventually made it to the infirmary, and I was told that I could spend the rest of the day in my cabin.
It was the best time I had there.
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