Cabin Fever

I bet you wish you were at summer camp right now.

No parents. No teachers. No books. No piano lessons. No chores. No sisters. No dishes. No teeth to clean. Well hopefully my kids are cleaning their teeth.

Camp isn’t reality.

Your teacher is replaced by a counselor, barely ten years older than you. Every word he says is god-like. Just cause he’s a teenager and you are…ten.

Your parents are replaced by the camp director. He is the guy who couldn’t figure out what life after camp looked like, so he followed his heart and made his cabin his home.

Your classmates are replaced by cabin mates. When they aren’t hanging you from the top bunk by your underwear, they are your new can’t-live-without best friends. At least for two weeks anyway.

Your mom’s cooking is replaced by someone else’s mom’s cooking. At first the food tastes great, but when breakfast on Day 4 is clearly hashed up leftovers from dinner on Day 2, you wonder hopefully how much ketchup the camp has in stock.

Your showers are replaced by swim tests in icy lakes. Your chores replaced by cabin cleanup and the discovery of smuggled candy gone sour. Your music lessons replaced by camp sing-alongs featuring the waterski instructor cum David Myles wannabe who knows that either role is great girl-bait.

Your days are going too fast and soon you will be headed home. Too soon you will be too old for camp and some day you will be chained to some corporate desk, reading some corporate guy’s blog, painfully reminding you of joyful Julys gone by, and essentially infecting you with cabin fever.