Terrible, terrible things

We're home from our camping trip, you lucky dogs.

The ocean's colder up here in Canada than it is down there in not-Canada. Really. It is.

Remember when you were a kid and you lured your parents into the cold water with the old "come on in, it's fine! You'll get used to it!" business? I fell for it. I had to prove that Dad wasn't a chicken-shit. Ohhhh, no, Dad's a big strong man! Well, I proved my strength, but whatever might have been "big" beforehand stopped being so within, oh... 0.3 seconds. JESUS CHRIST, someone should heat that pool up a bit!

You know that scene from M*A*S*H when Major Burns brought Hotlips a balloon and she popped it with a pin because she was mad at him? It ends with her chasing and him running away, flailing his arms around and squealing like a little girl. Imagine Major Burns with lots of hair and in swimming trunks. That was me, exiting the ocean. Jesus, I'm pathetic.

Kids can handle -20° water because they're made of steel or something. But it just makes me cry.

Jaq blew out a pair of sandals this time. Sheesh! What is it with her? Actually, she bought them a week ago. We're getting our money back.

We tried that "rehydrate your food with urine" trick I mentioned earlier. I should have read the whole article. Apparently you're supposed to use this special food or something, because the reconstituted chicken Kiev tasted like someone pissed into the bag and nothing like chicken. At least that's what the kids said. I said it was just their imagination while I ate my canned beans. Another failed experiment.

Aside from that, everything was super. We relaxed, we camped, we (read: they) swam, we beachcombed. That's pretty much it. I wanna go back.

Now.