Telling Tales – Mea Culpa

There are three things that I HATE-HATE to do. (And yes, I know hate is a strong word.)

Camping, as you know, is one of the top 3 on the list. I dislike sleeping on the ground, in a tent, after a night spent around a campfire (with no television), eating food wrapped in foil. I don’t intend to ever do this again unless a natural disaster hits and the Red Cross forcibly makes me sleep in a tent. And then I assure you, my mournful sobs and cries of “why have you deserted me, oh Lord” will keep the whole camp awake, until a collection is raised and I am moved to indoor accommodations (with cable).

Swimming in any water that is not heavily chlorinated is #2 on the list. Knowing me as you do, you probably think it has to do with germs, but germs are just the beginning. Chlorine kills two things: germs and sharks. Like many people my age, I directly attribute my intense hatred of sharks to the movie Jaws. Followed, by my cousin George whispering in my ear, just prior to his pushing me off the float in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico, “you better swim fast, there are sharks all over this place.” Ever since that fateful day, sharks have been on my hit list. As such, unless my water is heavily chlorinated and I can clearly see the bottom, count me out.    

But the number #1 thing I hate, hate, hate  to do… more than anything in this world ….is say the words “I’m sorry.”

I hate to admit I am wrong – ever!

It’s not that I’m not sometimes wrong. In fact, I’m probably wrong a lot of the time. But I absolutely HATE to admit it and will do all I can to avoid admitting it.

So, given this is practically a once in a lifetime occurrence – I thought what better way to admit I was wrong, to my dear husband, than to proclaim it in the local paper. So here goes…

“Brody – I was terribly, terribly wrong. And you were soooo right. Becky is a complete screw up and I never, ever, ever should have relied on her to plan our Fall trip! I am so sorry!”

(Whew – there I said it – and it was easier than I thought it would be.)

My husband lives for his vacations. And every Fall we take a trip to the beach with our friends. But last year, when it was time to sign back up, Becky and I decided that next year we wanted to head up north to the big city!

“It will be fun! Becky and I will plan the whole thing.”

Well – as usual – things happened. (Or more to the point – I told Becky to plan it – and she didn’t.)

And so now, one week before Fall break is set to begin (and Wilson County as we know it comes to a grinding halt as everyone heads to the beach) …we are not going anywhere.

I mean – we will go somewhere – but it will just cost twice as much – and probably won’t be the best of accommodations since most places are completely booked – one week out. (Who knew?)

And my husband, is really, really mad at me….and Becky.

I didn’t realize, however, the level of his discontent  – until this weekend – when Becky and I came upon Brody and Jay appearing to be planning the trip themselves.

All I heard were the words Fall Creek Falls, tent and then something called a Pop Up.

At which point – I turned to Becky and asked “What’s a Pop Up?

She turned pale – “Oh, God. You are going to be soooo sorry, you didn’t sign up for the beach!”

by Angel Kane, Wilson Living Magazine

To read more of Angel and Becky’s columns go to www.wilsonpost.com and hit Columns & Blogs.

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