Camping, Camping, I love you! Oh how I love you!
Camping, for you I brave insects. For you I take ice cold showers in spring water! Just for you, Camping, I sleep on a pillow wet from a thunderstorm. Year after year I do these things for you, Camping. Because I love you.
Except, Camping, sometimes when I trudge across the great outdoors at three in the morning to use a bathroom that would make the one in my favorite scummy bar look downright sanitary, or when I contemplate the sheer number of rained on damp things that must be crammed back into the back of the car for the drive home, that very same love can feel suspiciously like hate.
But I'm kidding Camping! There is no hate. There is very little hate. Those feelings are only fleeting, Camping, I promise!
Because I love you, Camping. You are my good and true friend. Camping, when I am with you daily storm and strife falls away, like the boys dropping from the rope swing.