Camping Bust Ups

So a while back Crow decided it might be nice to go camping.

I hate camping. I can’t see the sense in driving a distance to set up a temporary home to sleep on an uncomfy always deflatable blow up mattress when I have my own real home and real bed at home surrounded by a few acres of bushland.  It makes no sense.

But anywho I agreed because I thought it may be a good idea.  He tries to save us, our relationship on and off and this was an attempt, his attempt at bridging the vast canyon between us.

Now, I don't want to sound sexist as I know there are awesome men out there that pack cars, fill the tank and check the tires. Not Crow. His idea just meant more work for me.  All he had to do was tag along.

I bought all the necessary camping food and alcohol, aired out all the stale camping equipment like the tent and sleeping bags. We had bought them all long ago and had never used them.

I packed food ensuring we would survive for four days even though we were only going for two and tetrised the boot of the car with eveything from sleeping bags to tongs.

DONE!

We were off….. or at least we were eventually off.   Crow announced that we would leave at 9am sharp. I was up and ready to go as not to upset him with my tardiness.

He decided to surface around ten, then took an hour to sort himself out and have one final joint before we left.

He was up most of the night working on one of his paintings.  He’s an artist my husband Crow.  A nocturnal artist that has no sense of the AM.

I filled my time waiting with a few tabacco sticks, four coffees and re-straightened my hair hoping it would last the distance of no electricity.

Crow insisted on driving and we took off down our little gravel road past the peppercorn trees.  We turned left and continued for about a kilometre when it started.

“What’s that fucking noise?” He said with squinted annoyed eyes.

“What noise?”  I snapped back.  I couldn’t hear any fucking noise.

“That rattle. Can’t you hear that?  Are you deaf or something?”

He turned to me staring into me as if I had created a rattle on purpose.

“It’s a little rattle. Big deal. It’s probably just the camping kettle or something.”

“Nah.  It’s fucking pisssing me off and I’m not driving forty k’s with that noise.”

He pulled over in a skid on the side of the road.  Like a madman he popped the hatch open and started pulling everything out throwing it everywhere.

“What the freak are you doing?  It took me ages to fit all that in.”  I tried to find some sense in his bizarre antics.

“Yeah well you should have made sure there was no fucking noise.”

How did I let him make me believe we could go anywhere together.  He has always had a fear of venturing too far away from home and the thought to him having to spend one on one time with me away from it all was too much.

He near emptied the boot and then threw the keys toward me.

“I’m not doing this.  I’m going home. You sort this out.”

He turned and strutted home having a man tantrum.

I began laughing; another day at the office type laugh, a why am I not surprised laugh, a gosh I'm a fucking idiot type laugh.

I stared into the beautiful clear sky and contemplated the possibility of hoping back in and driving to who knows where but knew he had my key card in his wallet and the tank was only half full.

I contemplated leaving everything unpacked there for some hillbilly to pick up but knew I what I had to do. I packed what I could in back seat and front passenger seat as I had all this extra room to fit in all the crap strewn across the side of the road including the rattly camping kettle and drove home.

AND

That was the story of our camping trip.

Have you had a disastrous trip with your partner??

Scroll down and let me know.