Moved the Sofa/Workout Machine Myself: I mean business!

An Elegant Frittata Goes Camping...

This is the headline on my newspaper this morning as I bent to pick it up.  I thought, really?  Does that person exist?  The one who wants to camp and have an elegant frittata to COOK in the morning?  I mean, sure the person who wants a frittata, no problem, but the one who is willing to cook one and camp?  I'd love to meet them.  No, actually I wouldn't.  Because I'd rather be at the nearby restaurant on a lovely outdoor deck overlooking nature, not being one with it.

A frittata sounds like something I'd want a Diet Coke with -- don't ask me why, just would.  Somehow I'd need that in a glass with ice and who wants an elegant frittata on a paper plate?  Or are you going to run it under those camp faucets and clean a real dish? 

They wonder why the newspaper is dying?  Maybe because your demographic for frittata-loving campers is smaller than you think.  Just sayin.  I'm happy to note that I stepped over my frittata-graced newspaper on my way to Starbucks and I bought myself a coffee cake.  Life is good.  My family is camping without me.  They're good with that too, as Elle told me I ruined the last trip.  You know what, baby?  Take mommy to a hotel and see who ruins the vacation.  It would be daddy saying you can't order a hot chocolate. Let me show you a picture of Elle when I took her to see Glee, and you tell me who knows how to vacation.


And to my mother, who thinks that RVing is such a luxurious way to camp (and lent my family her rig) -- no Mom, it's not.  I spend every day wrapped in a van with kids fighting over the radio, so hey, what could make that any better?  Oh hey, put a kitchen in that van and bring the dog, now you're on VACATION.  Not.

I have to admit.  I'm a little jealous at the moment.  Just got these photos.