Agreement in my personal dictionary of indecisiveness and fear is something followed loosely, providing me ample time to flake away from a decision or think through something I neglected earlier along the line.
Apparently, I "agreed" to go camping. This weekend. In the rain. In Ely where a town nearby suffered from 40 degree nights not so many nights ago. In August. The site is one which has slipped under the state park radar (translates: not an actual camp site) and has no "fire pit" or "open ground for tents". It's an island with no "bear control". And bears, apparently, can swim. Who knew? Not this one when she agreed.
When I freeze to death-
No.
When I get mauled by a bear-
No.
When my frozen carcass is eaten by Smoky the fire-preventing bear, please donate my remains to Body Worlds. At least when I go, I'll feel as though I'm part of some sort of elite club.
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