Sunday, July 18, 2010

Playing Tricks

Life plays tricks on me sometimes.

For instance, my calendar is telling me that it's Sunday evening, when in reality it has to be Tuesday. Or maybe Wednesday? All I know is, I most definitely did not partake in a weekend.

Some of us did.

Calvin got to go For Real camping with his Daddy. For Real camping entails the pitching of a tent on ground that is not located in one's own yard, toilets without flushers and mosquito bites to beat the band.

He's gone and learned how to catch a fish, this one. He casts his line like he means it and reeled in a small-mouth bass entirely on his own, while Daddy lazed around the campfire, some 20 yards away. Or so the story goes.

I enjoyed "camping" for just two short hours on Friday night. Then Ruby got sick and I spent the rest of my "weekend" cuddled up with her, and doing my best to harness the energy and will of Siley Pie, which turns out to be no easy feat.

Here's the thing - I'm really not a camp girl. I enjoy what I know of it, but my knowledge is quite limited. I was not Born to Camp. It may have something to do with my long-standing aversion to outhouses or it may be related to my woeful hair that really must be washed daily.

It's not that I'm a wimp, though. No, it's definitely not that.

In theory, I should have been more than happy to opt out of "camping". But there's something I haven't told you about said camping trip - she was there.

You don't believe me? I'll prove it.

Lawsie Law - it's her. Camera in hand.

I know I've told you this before, but we lived next door to each other our Sophomore year in college. We shared a wall, ya'll. And I cannot remember one single conversation with her. It's all a travesty, if you ask me.

I had my reasons. I was busy color-coding my mens XL American Eagle flannel shirts and teasing my bangs. I was busy writing sonnets and day-dreaming about boys who would be but a memory just one short year later, upon the entrance of CMB.

The point is - I was a stark-raving fool to have missed out on her.

So we hatched a plan to meet up while they were in town. We were a collective ball of nerves, the two of us. But while our mutual introversion-spurred awkwardness could very well have spelled disaster, it didn't. As it turns out, we had plenty to talk about.

And then night fell and the little girl got sick and I never saw her again.

Woe.

Is.

Me.

The moral of the story here? Go meet your neighbors. Do it today. You just never know what treasure may wait one door down.