It's the night after Christmas and I'm sitting around the campfire with my high school friends. Smack dab between two people who used to work at Travel Country (and one who has literally lived for months down by the river in a tent in Alaska), I'm getting attacked by every outdoor allergen in what can only be compared to the Allied invasion of Normandy while everyone else is mucking it up like the Great Outdoors is something, well, wonderful.
I'm convinced "mucking it up" is the wrong phrase, but for the life of me I can't figure the right one out.
All of this -- friends, campfires, and wheezing -- is the perfect combination to contemplate the finer things of life. Things like, why do so many friends of mine love Travel Country and is there any man's name that starts with "E" that I find acceptable?
To the first question, I am still perplexed. To the second, quite the conversation ensued.
As campfire conversations often do, the topic turned to relationships. Is it really too much to ask for a guy to wear rolled sleeves, a satchel bag, be witty, cook, conquer the great outdoors, fix appliances, excel in finance, walk with God, have higher-than-average verbal skills, be clean, cultivate his artistic side, and have a good name? Please, I'm not asking for the moon here. Any old Joe, Mike, Brad, Will, or Matt will do. (Sorry, all Edwards, Enochs, Ebenezers, and Edmunds need not apply).
Of which the reply came from the only male representative who said, "Karin -- she's simple....but complicated."
Couldn't have said it better myself.