My friends and I go camping at the end of every summer. It's something I look forward to with sincere excitement, but last year, while in the wilderness, I had to acknowledge a difficult truth about myself; I am a Secret Princess Gay. I'm not proud of it, and looking back to the kid who used to fish with worms, and come home filthy from a solid day of playing, I'm not sure where along the line I attained my proverbial crown. This being said, I feel as though there is a large demographic if people that can relate. Sure, we are tough and tenacious and resourceful. We capture spiders and we hammer nails into walls, and those nails are sturdy enough to hold picture frames and shelving units. We don't need umbrellas when it rains, and we don't even use band aids when our cats scratch us.
We do have a weakness though; a collective private shame. We can solider through any macho task with valiant ease, as long as we have a refuge from the elements. I'm talking, I just mowed the front and back lawn, now I'm going into my air conditioned dwelling to have a hot shower and a cold beer.
A lot of people love camping; the filth, the heat, nature attacking us with it's beauty. Breathtaking sunsets and pollen and campfires and loads of bug spray. Good on them. We are not these people. And that's okay, but we are still apprehensive about disclosing this. This glorious season, I say we stand up, and loudly proclaim to the world, "We're here! We're queer! Get us a sunscreen with a high SPF count!" Here is a guide I've put together that would constitute a perfect, anxiety free camping trip. I call it, Fancy Camping For Covert Sissy Gays.
Sleeping Quarters
I don't care where I am, I like my comfort. My body constantly betrays me in Summer because it never seems to regulate like a normal person's does. I can't wear my glasses in certain seasons because almost as soon as I put them on my face, I can see condensation begin creeping across my field of vision. It's embarassing. So, of course I would ideally covet:
- an air conditioning unit, and three backup fans
- an elevated, king sized bed
- a fish tank for a relaxing, outdoor feel
- all childhood stuffed animals
- a modest plasma tv
- glow in the dark stars (so pretty at night)
- dressing room area (I'm not changing into my board shorts and tank top for swimming behind a damn tree. I'm just not)
- a wardrobe for every season
- and my cats
Now I'm not delicate. I certainly plan on enjoying the Great Outdoors, but wouldn't it be that much better if the mingling area had:
- a caged animal (like a hamster, or a guinea pig- I hate when I'm right in the middle of watching a squirrel and they scamper off)
- boxes of Wet Naps, and a sanitizer station
- a Mac Book, Ipod, Ipod dock, CDs and a DJ booth
- every video game console
- fridge
- so much beer and snackies
- generator
- a desk and ink (we could go searching for quills!)
- a dingy
- a dingy
You can feel the sun rays on your face through the screen door by now, can't you? Lastly, the bathroom area:
- portable bathroom sink; functioning or not (I'm not adverse to walking to a communal bathroom area, but there's something comforting about just seeing a sink in the vicinity of your vacation spot)
- an array of perfumes and/or colognes
- all the bug spray
- so much makeup (Do I wear makeup now? No. Well sometimes, but that's just so people will stop asking me if I'm sick or if I was crying. But what happens if you're laying in your hammock, sipping on a vodka and Gatorade and playing Sodoku and an adorable hiker who's lost their way needs your assistance? Be prepared.)
- hair dyes, shampoos, conditioners, wigs (I actually feel like I have no real connection to the female gender, and am making wild assumptions as to what they would enjoy having there)
- one regal hat
Camp away, dear friends. Bring your coffee makers and neck pillows and and expensive astringents. Unapologetically enjoy yourselves this summer, and avoid inconvenience at all cost. In the words of Pinterest, "Happiness is a way of travel. Not a destination."
