Camping, cats, and being your clone? No, thank you
Many moons ago, I briefly dated a dude who desired a woman who’d get messy out in the woods at a three-day concert, something like Woodstock. He was a computer geek. No surprise, I never did go camping with him.
I only ventured into the woods once, in my 20s. We roughed it. No portable potty, none of this glam stuff popular now.
We grabbed two canoes, four of us, two couples. The guys were cousins.
We set up a tent and brought a cooler of food. I don’t even remember if we ate hot dogs or what.
What I can’t forget is lying awake all night long, listening to boars in the woods. This was along the Alafia River here in Florida. It was April, long before it gets so hot your eyeballs melt.
Let’s just say it’s not an experience I want to repeat.
Camping in an RV
In 1992, I worked for a huge RV dealer. They got into trouble with the state attorney Bill James; he suspected fraud.
I spent two months that summer calling customers and asking them about our service.
I learned this: an RV is a headache. You’re combining the problems of a home and a car into one unit.
So we had lots of Michiganders and people who made union salaries buying them and needing repairs. To say they were grouchy as hell is an understatement.
I did well with this summer survey work, which isn’t surprising because I’m curious about people and love to ask questions.
I was also writing part-time for the Tampa Bay Times but they wouldn’t hire part-timers who made the front page. It’s no wonder they call freelancers stringers. You get strung along like a bread-crumbing single person.
Anyhow, I thankfully never had to humiliate myself wearing a 1980s prom gown and dealing with pissed-off customers at the state fairgrounds show in January. That’s because I wanted to visit my sister in Pennsylvania after Christmas.
I asked my boss and was told no way. We’re doing inventory in January, he said. No exceptions!
So I quit. It’s not like I had no other income.
As you might imagine, I have bad memories associated with camping.
When online now, though, I read quite a few men’s profiles who list camping, golf, and cats as their interests.
Cats seem creepy to me
Cats…where do I start? The smell when they spray — I hear it’s the males — is like a skunk’s. I once bought a house overtaken by 10 feral cats who’d made a home in the lady’s garage. Just awful.
Cats scratch me because they can sense I prefer dogs.
My mother forbade us from bringing a stray home; she loved dogs but hated cats. I never asked her why but I totally get it.
They scratch up all your sofas and chairs, hide under the bed, and refuse to come when they’re called.
Basically they own you, not the other way around. You can’t train them.
They also jump your Christmas tree and break all your ornaments. They jump on counters all the time. So unsanitary.
My wild German shepherd Jessie jumped onto the kitchen table the day after we adopted her. She’d been kept outside for her brief life of less than two years.
I yelled “Jessie!” She froze, stumped at how to get off the wooden table.
She looked around, her legs quivering. I bent over, laughing my butt off.
Guess what? She never tried that again. My ex kept swearing we’d get rid of her but I defended Jessie. We trained her and she became the sweetest, most obedient dog I’ve ever had.
When I see cats in a guys’ profile pictures, I take a hard pass.
I’m not allergic to cat hair, I just hate their personality. Not to mention the disgusting litter box you have to clean every day.
They are sneaky and scared most of the time. Plus they hiss and annoy dogs. Not my favorite traits.
Golf is boring
But I digress. Finally, there is golf. Hitting the tiny ball into the tiny hole is not my idea of fun. It’s also expensive…the clubs, the fees, the snobby rich people who seek to be placated.
My grandpa, God rest his soul, played with some men but he also read three books a month into his 90s.
He didn’t live for the sport which Mark Twain said was the best way to ruin a perfectly good walk.
I’ll play miniature golf now and then. Since my cancer surgery, my right shoulder has no muscle in the deltoid area. Would be tough to swing a golf club anyway.
Like my dad, I’m not obsessed with just one hobby. I shoot pictures, swim…I don’t make wine or develop photos in the basement like he did, but I love history, traveling, science…learning is lifelong.
When you quit learning new things, you might as well be dead.
Are you my clone?
Yet nowadays it seems most people are seeking their mirror image. You like Coldplay? So do I. You love beer? Me, too.
Give me a break. My parents had different interests that complemented each other.
She was an incredible cook like most women of her generation, born in 1940. She could also grow anything. I can cook well but I kill even a philodendron because I forget to water it.
Similar hobbies don’t mean as much as similar values, goals, lifestyles, and kindness to all. The golden rule is king. Treat others like you want to be treated.
Commitment and love aren’t a game
Selfish people should just forego marriage. It’s about being a team, not a power struggle.
I should know. I was married to two control freaks like my mother.
They are naturally attracted to an easygoing, accommodating woman like me.
Control freaks can suck the life out of you. I wouldn’t diagnose both of my exes as narcissists but they were borderline.
Let me be myself and I’ll do the same
I need a man who lets me be me. Don’t tell me where to work, which friends to dump, blah blah blah. I’m not your little wind-up doll, your clone or your robot.
Sadly, many people see a relationship as a battle for control, power, money, and prestige.
If you believe you need to master someone else, to one-up her and take all the money in your joint bank account, while reminding your spouse she makes less money — my first husband did this— then just stay single.
I don’t want to be your clone. News flash: you aren’t perfect, only God is.
I’m trying to stay humble, laugh at my foibles, and tolerate rather than judge others. I avoid conflict since it makes my blood pressure spike.
Get your s#*t together and do better
Just be self-aware enough to decide if you’re good at relationships or not. It’s okay if you aren’t because you can improve. It’s never too late to learn new tricks.
I’m not suggesting you must be the perfect person before you date. Just work on your issues, especially if you have a hot temper. Own your own crap, don’t blame others like you’re 4 years old.
As Prince wisely said, Act your age, not your shoe size!
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