Despite 3 solid burnings during our last camping excursion, The Wife and I returned to the wilderness at the base of Mt. Hood to camp with some friends. Present were 6 adults and 2 children, and luckily, no wakeboarding boats from which I could be banned for life.
At the end of the first night, after we set up our massive dome tent and inflated our air mattress, I crawled into bed and cocooned myself within the blankets, twisting them around my body like an adorable pupa. The Wife informed me this setup was unacceptable, stating, “No, no — we use the German Method. Watch…” She tore the blankets off and began layering them on top of me; each one stacked perfectly upon the next, corner to corner, like slices of American cheese on top of my sweet, American body.
While the German Method may sound brilliant in theory, in practice, it’s total crap. The blankets were just big enough to cover both our bodies, so when a selfish German decided to roll over onto her side and take half the covers with her, the American was left to freeze off his Red, White and Blues. Add to this a slowly deflating air mattress, and you’ve discovered the faulty engineering behind the German Method.*
After shivering my way through the night, I woke at 6:30 am to the sound of children playing around the campsite. They were having a wonderful time, and their carefree laughter filled the forest air… a sound which grates upon my ears like nails on a chalkboard. The Wife was already awake, and she turned to me with a vicious case of dragon breath. “NOW do you want to have children?” she asked.
“Oh yes,” I replied. “Triplets. And when they wake us up the next time we go camping, I’ll take them for a little nature hike — ‘Time to go to the Drowning Pool, kids!’ ”
Still shivering cold, I dove beneath the blankets and clung to The Wife like a koala to a Eucalyptus tree, making sure to rub my frozen hands and feet all over her bikini bits. While I was down there, rummaging around in the warm darkness, she totally let rip and farted on my knees. Just all over them. And my head was beneath the covers too, which meant my wife had just treated me to a Dutch Oven.
I scrambled to the surface, gasping for air. The Wife was laughing at me, so I bear hugged her — squeezing her super tight — right as she machine-gunned 3 sneezes across the top of my head. I felt the mist and everything.
She rolled out of bed, informing me, “Those sneezes are called ‘Ha-Cheez.’ ”
*The Wife claims she rolled onto her side during the night in order to face away from me because my breath was so bad, which is totally impossible, because my breath smells like freedom.
Click here to read some of our other camping misadventures.
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