Slumdog Millionaires

“I’m going to Google a list of things that we should take camping … This list is fantastic! And reminding me why I never go camping…”

This should have been our first clue.

JT and I were discussing the items we would need to bring on our big weekend at the Boots and Hearts country music festival. We had decided to camp, eager to experience everything the event had to offer. There was just one problem: neither of us knew the first thing about camping; the outdoors; or how to survive without plumbing, showers, and real food.

Let’s paint a picture, shall we? JT is a Toronto born, Jewish lawyer. The least pretentious person you will ever meet, but also not one who is very accustomed to outdoorsy activities. I was raised in suburbia and dislike nature, bugs, dirt, and sleeping outside. A princess, one might call me (no, seriously, I’ve been called that a lot).

We were excited. Country music and an obviously hilarious experience trying to camp? Some quality time with one of my most favourite people in the world? What’s not to love?!

 

Adorable. And very excited. This was very early on.

Oh, that’s right. We had to sleep in a fucking tent for 4 nights. In a field. With a million other people.

 

In a TENT?!

We arrived at our campsite. Basically a square of field that held enough room for the van we took and our tent. Spirits were still high!

We pitched the tent with assistance from our much more seasoned neighbours, and after we realized we had no idea what the hell to do with the second part of the tent. Great, done! Let’s get ready! Still happy! Still excited!

 

I tried to take photos and videos but he caught on to my plan and then I had to help.

I took a bathroom break. That’s when things went downhill for me. I literally almost cried as I sat squatted precariously over the toilet. The thing about being a woman and using the bathroom is that squatting sort of…pitches your head forward. So not only are you avoiding the seat, you’re also trying to avoid head butting the door of the port-a-potty or, alternatively, turning your head so you’re fucking nose-to-“nose” with the urinal. I basically got my ass out of those damn things at a dead run as soon as I was done. Think I scared all the people waiting.

"This is like a slum." - JT

The concert itself that first night was great, albeit terrifying. For the whole weekend, I think I was turned into JT in a sort of protective stance from all the rowdiness. (I do hate how this whole post makes me sound, but it was just…it was MADNESS). We lasted 5 minutes at the dance party and were in the tent ready for bed at about 12:30am.

And that was when JT broke. The tent was on a hill and, as he exclaimed that “all my blood is rushing to my feet”, he had an epiphany: “I totally did not know this was camping.” As we took in our surroundings – and JT gripped the flashlight for dear life – we went into hysterics at what we were doing. We tentatively decided to screw the camping idea and stay at my parents’ house for the remainder of the weekend. The night was a mess of people running by our tent, partiers at 3am, and car alarms going off right outside our tent. Oh, by the way, we are 50 years old.

I was worried that JT may have a change of heart in the morning and want to stay, and I was determined to do so with a smile on my face if that was the case. And more alcohol than I would have ever consumed in my 26 years.

Miserable.

He woke up, and once he figured out the zipper on the door to the tent, looked at me and said, “Ok, first, we need coffee. And then we need to figure out how to get the fuck out of here.”

I had never heard sweeter words. We were gone within the hour.

We are never, ever, ever doing that again.

 

I could not have experienced that with anyone else. So lucky to have this guy in my life.

Love,

M