Tuesday, August 09, 2005

Interview with a Vamp - Part 2

OK, you and I have decided to load up the families into our respective minivans (what? I have one, don’t you?) and drive toward each other. We shall meet somewhere in the middle of our respective locales traveling at a speed of, oh wait, it’s not a word problem, it’s a QUESTION!! Where we will meet and how will we torture our husbands and children while we’re there?

I have no idea what your starting point is, but if I'm driving, I can only go up. So I'm assuming we're driving away from the water, and that in and of itself is torture enough for my husband. I will, however, take pity on his poor soul and allow him to listen to talk radio for the entire drive. This will of course torture my kids, so to appease them I will load up the van with assorted sodas, snacks, and dvds. Why am I appeasing my family? It's simple, really. If they're already feeling tortured, it's going to make it that much harder to truly torture them once we arrive at our midpoint. In keeping with my inability to pinpoint your exact location, I've opted to meet at Generic Campground U.S.A. We are camping. Primitive style.

Now, I don't know about you, but my family hates camping. My husband is a spoiled man - camping for him is a hotel room that doesn't have an in-room coffee pot. My children, juiced up on hormones and technology, will simply shreek in abject fear at the thought of living without the internet, in an area with no cell phone service. But wait! There's More! In order to assist you in the torturing of YOUR family, I'm going to insist my husband help your husband pitch the tents while you and I sit back and relax with some Merlot in Dixie Cups, exchanging stories and sharing scrapbooks. My husband, brilliant man that he is, persists in the belief that all things mechanical have been placed on this earth to ridicule him. This in turn becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy that will no doubt have YOUR husband in tears by dusk. Meanwhile, our various and assorted children will be hard at work, tackling the task of collecting sticks for the campfire.

Now that our campsite is set up, and we've polished off the first bottle of wine, you get to watch me inform my 3 teenagers that there are no restrooms...and that they'll be sleeping in the kiddie tent with your boys. Your boys, in turn, begin protesting the fact that two of my three teenagers are girls, and they smell like girl-spray stuff...and they're going to get glitter everywhere...EVERY WHERE. No, there are no port-o-pots, I tell my kids. There are trees. I would then turn to my husband and casually mention the instant coffee crystals that I packed, and the necessity to collect water to boil over the campfire in the morning.

Though I've only just begun to torture my family (and yours by proxy), I find that I have been captured by a band of wild-eyed Bugs. They have secured me to a tree with biodegradable toilet paper, and driven off in the van to the nearest Hilton. Beneath my feet are a pile of broken sticks, some twine from a tent, and a jar of Folgers Crystals... just out of my reach.

Tomorrow's Question: If you had to choose between a live-in housekeeper, a full-time chef, or a personal trainer, which would you choose.