If you know me, you know that I'm always right. Well, this time - and just this one time - Pat was right and I was wrong. Pat wanted to go camping this past weekend and I did not. There was so much going on in Phoenix that I didn't want to miss, such as happy hour with the girls from book club (Happy Birthday, all you April girls), an Arbonne skin care party (I know, I know, but I really need a new moisturizer to curb these wrinkles and the hostess has a NEW PUPPY), and the start of really hot Phoenix weather (yippee!).
But, to be nice to the husband, I agreed to suck it up and go camping. However, there was no need for sucking - it was legitimately fun! The nights were freezing and the day was lovely. The campsite was dirty with lots of dirt and more dirt. We hiked to Lynx Lake and I threw the dogs in a couple times to wash away some of the dirt. We grilled brats and toasted marshmallows. Mmmm, marshmallows. We saw some stars. We also played the official sport of camping: miniature wiffle ball. This sport is much more dangerous than hockey, just ask David who is still sporting welts and cuts and scrapes.