This is a theme that comes up often. Mostly from the child housemate. But the adult housemate has also been known to suggest it or encourage it from time to time.
Right so how do I explain to them that camping is the last thing I would ever want to do? Like if I were on death row and I was given the option of going camping or getting the needle, the needle would win. Every. Time.
Up until the age of 9 when my mom died in a car crash, I had a reasonably ok life. Two kids, a devoted mom and a father who was mostly home (except those times he made babies with that other woman). After the crash in December 1985, my life was one looooong camping trip from hell.
Sharing a bed/close sleeping quarters with at least two people at any given time? Check
Not my own comfy bed I’m used to? Check
Not enough bedding in winter? Check
No electricity? Check
None of the yummy foods you’re used to at home? Check
Black coffee, pb& jam and tin foods? Check
Never enough loo paper? Check (people who know me well, do you now get why I always have tons of loo paper in my house?)
And I think this is the case for many people I know and grew up with. Our lives were/still is one long friggin camping trip. So no, we don’t want to go camping. A close friend is 41 and she recently went to a friend’s wedding in America (friend paid for alles). It was the first time she did not have to share a bed with siblings, a child (she was a single mom for a bit) or husband! She said it felt unreal to have a bed all to herself for the first time in her entire life.
Housemate 1 grew up in reasonable comfort which means camping is an adventure for him. Housemate 2 is growing up in the kind of comfort that I didn’t even dream of as a child.
So in the spirit of reality check, I have shared my story with them and housemate 2 has now said he’ll be happy with camping at the bottom of our garden. That way I can still sleep in my bed and he gets to camp with housemate 1. Thankfully his entitlement levels are low and his empathy levels are high.