After falling into Timothy Lake and returning to camp, I flailed about in our tent like a shivering man-child while The Wife forced me into dry clothes.
Dinghy McBrokenboat had set his crawdad trap earlier that day, so by the time we rejoined the group at the campfire he’d caught 4 of the disgusting little freaks.
“Look honey!” I said, holding one up for her to see. It waved its claws around, miming precious little death threats at her.
“Ooo!” she replied. “It’s a Crapdaddy.” Obviously I could not bring myself to correct her. Instead, I laughed and pulled out my iPhone, adding her quote to our ongoing list of Denglish hilarity.
We cooked the crawfish and ate them; each one offering just enough meat to evoke in my mind the shellfish genocide it would require to form a proper meal. It was then I noticed movement on the ground around the campfire. All around, as far as my flashlight could reveal, the forest floor was crawling with spiders. I’d never seen anything like it in my life. It was like something out of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets… or the night terrors I’ve been having ever since.
Because my normal clothes were soaked, I was wearing only socks on my feet, which left me feeling all the more vulnerable to spider attacks. I held my feet up as long as I could, like a pregnant woman in stirrups, before exhausting myself and retiring for the night.
The next morning, we awoke to the dreaded patter of rain hitting our tent. My coat was hanging under a tree somewhere outside, so The Wife found a white plastic bag and cut holes for my head and arms, fashioning a makeshift rain vest comprised of 10% German resourcefulness and 90% American shame. The rest of our group enjoyed the hell out of my predicament, while I choked down a little of the hair of the dog that bit me. I was cold, I was wet, and I was still angry about those other campers molesting our otherwise virginal ambiance…
But by God, we were camping… and we were camping hard.
Click here to read our very first camping adventure — The Camping Chronicles: Burning the German, Part I
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Oh God, My Wife Is German. 
I hate camping with spiders, especially the ones that are toxic. We found one of those toxic creepy crawlers in our bedroom last night – this weekend it is war – I am sooo done with the spider invasion at our house! You guys and your camping escapades – just HILLARIOUS:) I needed a good laugh this morning minus the spiders. Have a Great Weekend!
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What’s camping without a little misadventure? After all, if things go perfectly, you have no stories, and how sad would that be.
You: Dear, do you remember the time when we camping?
Her: Yes
OR
You: Dear, do you remember the time we went camping and I fell off the boat and ended up wearing a little something you made for me out of a plastic trash bag the next day?
Her: Hell, yes! You looked so ridiculous! And you were so scared of the spiders!! And remember those vile kids? Wow! Wonder if they ever turned into adults? What if one of them is now my doctor, the one who delivered our little Denglert?
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