The annual Indian Guides camping trip is coming up tomorrow. As usual, it will be two thousand degrees outside with one-hundred twenty percent humidity. The sun is forecast to dip within ten feet of the ground above my tent, just when I will be struggling to erect it.
But we will survive. We always do.
These father-daughter outings are supposed to free up our wives for a time.
I wonder, though, if time just continues to fly by for our spouses - leaving in its wake the guilt of unfulfilled aspirations.
In either case, I cannot wait to get home on Sunday. Tired, unshaven, caked with sweat, craving a beer and a shower in no particular order. Coming home is sweet.