Happy Little Sun Icons

Could be I’m the only person on the planet keeping my eye on the long range weather forecast and hoping those next 3 or 4 days of rain clouds and lightening strokes doesn’t magically turn into happy little sun icons. Weird really, because I’m about as fond of ‘clean freak hell’ as I would be of getting leprosy. (I could have said salmonella, but that was too damned close to home really…)

But the great outdoors can be hell on...  Well everything really.  When we got back yesterday, my hair was like brillo; my skin was downright crispy and my nails… they were absolutely shocking.  In one evening, I’ve managed to rectify those ailments and I’d like to keep it this way.  Even if for just another day or two!

My argument is that if we go back to the camp site, (which has been left like a yacht in the Bermuda Triangle – eerily abandoned) we all know that within a day we will have the same problem – and it’s hard to have a good time while a river flows through the tent and sleeping in a wet doona.

I’ll admit that I’m not exactly an outdoors kind of girl, but I suspect the major issue is that the fly thing is sitting on the tent, as opposed to hovering over it.  So everywhere it touches sucks rain in; in effect, working the opposite to the way it should.  Although the tent issue is quite logical to me, how to rectify it is not.  My first impulse is to shrug my shoulders and say “your tent”.

Yet as I have said before, that isn’t going to work.  I am the man in this relationship so shoulder shrugging isn’t going to get me very far and I have a feeling he isn’t going to like the idea of taking it down and starting again.

I had to browbeat him into putting the tarp up.  He is a legend around the camp and there were multiple comments on his inability to “tarp up”.  We got it up.  Up..?  It was a thing of beauty.  And as a bonus (aside from his sending off images of himself in front of a tarp that was structurally sound) we had a fantastic couple of days of shade (which became a gigantic sail as the winds picked up and I spent a night stressing that the trailer I’d secured one side to would be picked up and land on our head.)

So I have to sit and ponder.  Weigh up the pros and cons. 

Firstly, he isn’t going to feel we had enough time with only one week.  That means I’ll have to go back.  Therefore, I need to choose when I go back.  This week through rains and rivers and late night tent securing; or the week after, when the harridan will arrive like the freaking queen.

Originally when we discussed this idea around May/June, I figured she’d be on one side of the place; us on another and never the twain shall meet.  I thought I could probably do that. Sure, it may be a little uncomfortable every so often… but the marriage was a done deal, everyone should be happy.

And although the marriage is over, she sure as hell doesn’t want to lose her meal ticket/circus act so since working out that we may actually end up together, that God forbid, the poor sap may actually be happy…  She has set about making our lives a living hell.   It should be obvious why I am no longer okay with being there when she is but the squeeze, idiot that he is, just doesn’t see it.  I have until now, managed to remain in the background however I fear I will not be able to do that if she starts her games down there.  And if push comes to shove and I let her have a piece of my mind, she’ll get both damned barrels.

Prior to me even pausing to contemplate the rain/harridan choice, I think about the rants on what she wanted out of the camping stuff and delaying our departure (funny, I’m sure I had been told the “financials” of the split were complete…)  And I can envisage her walking through and pointing an imperious finger at various things to say “I want that.”

And that will create stress and angst between the moodle and I.  Because he will want to bow and ask if she wants that gift wrapped, and I’ll be waiting for her to put one foot on our site and it will be the Hatfield and the McCoy feud all over again!  Complete with pot shots over the fence if she so much as sticks her head up!

Far from being across the park on the other side of Wilson’s Prom as was the original story, I have been informed that her campsite is on the same little street as ours!  My intuition tells me that no matter what, knowing my luck, the cow will end up being next door…

The emotional cripple I date doesn’t quite understand why this would by my idea of hell.  Idiot.

Frankly, I’d rather be dead.