Maintenance Minimum
How high is considered high maintenance?
We are taking my parents’ tent camper out into the wild blue tomorrow (no posts for a few days, sorry). It’s our first year using a tent camper, and I’m sort of looking forward to it. It has a bathroom and an ever-so-tiny shower. It’s far from our traditional camping accommodations; we usually borrow a church friend’s fabulous 40-foot motor home. I call it hotel-room camping. RVs have spoiled me over the years.
But this year, my folks bought a tent camper, something to call their own, and they've enjoyed using it over the past few months, so hence the transition. It’s definitely a step down from prior years, quite a huge step down, really, but at least it has a toilet and shower.
We almost had to take an even larger step down. The tent camper had some issues and was going to have to sit in the shop for a week, missing our camping timeline. So Eric approached me with the idea of just plain-ole “tenting” it.
Now, I can survive without make-up and a blow dryer or even a soft bed for a week, and if forced to, I will even use the campground “facilities,” hand held over my nose the entire time. But I can’t -- simply cannot do without a shower for longer than 48 hours. That’s my maximum showerless ability. I will not stoop any lower than this. I can’t stand the needle-like stubble that grows on my legs and under my arms or the super-greasiness of my hair or the prickliness of dry skin, and above all, I have to smell pretty, and my smelling-pretty shelf life is 48 hours; that's when I start to go bad. That’s the date I’ve been stamped with, I guess; it's where the line must be drawn.
So, without hesitation, when my husband popped the tenting-it question, I bellowed a resounding, “Nooooooo!”
Fortunately, the tent camper is mended – miracle of miracles – and our tent-camper expedition begins.
We are taking my parents’ tent camper out into the wild blue tomorrow (no posts for a few days, sorry). It’s our first year using a tent camper, and I’m sort of looking forward to it. It has a bathroom and an ever-so-tiny shower. It’s far from our traditional camping accommodations; we usually borrow a church friend’s fabulous 40-foot motor home. I call it hotel-room camping. RVs have spoiled me over the years.
But this year, my folks bought a tent camper, something to call their own, and they've enjoyed using it over the past few months, so hence the transition. It’s definitely a step down from prior years, quite a huge step down, really, but at least it has a toilet and shower.
We almost had to take an even larger step down. The tent camper had some issues and was going to have to sit in the shop for a week, missing our camping timeline. So Eric approached me with the idea of just plain-ole “tenting” it.
Now, I can survive without make-up and a blow dryer or even a soft bed for a week, and if forced to, I will even use the campground “facilities,” hand held over my nose the entire time. But I can’t -- simply cannot do without a shower for longer than 48 hours. That’s my maximum showerless ability. I will not stoop any lower than this. I can’t stand the needle-like stubble that grows on my legs and under my arms or the super-greasiness of my hair or the prickliness of dry skin, and above all, I have to smell pretty, and my smelling-pretty shelf life is 48 hours; that's when I start to go bad. That’s the date I’ve been stamped with, I guess; it's where the line must be drawn.
So, without hesitation, when my husband popped the tenting-it question, I bellowed a resounding, “Nooooooo!”
Fortunately, the tent camper is mended – miracle of miracles – and our tent-camper expedition begins.
Comments
have fun!!