Yeah, so, I would die immediately if selected for The Hunger Games. I know this.
My sister Michelle said that she would volunteer to take my place, because I wouldn’t survive. She’s right. I probably wouldn’t last a day. She’s really good with a bow and camping and all that shit. I, on the other hand, would probably just kill myself to avoid sleeping outside on the ground.
My family is really into hunting, fishing, camping and all that outdoorsy stuff. Me? Not so much. As soon as I was old enough to stay home alone, I stopped going on family camping trips, which were practically every weekend. And, if you’re thinking I must have been having parties every weekend like a normal teenager would, then you have learned nothing from this blog. I spent the entire weekend renting movies or riding my bike to the Capri Theatre to watch “Aliens” for the 300th time. Yep, I was so wild and crazy back then.
So, yeah, my idea of roughin’ it involves staying in a hotel. It’s one of the two things about me that makes my dad wonder if I’m really his daughter. The other thing is my complete lack of direction. I get lost using a map. True story.
I have friends that insist I would like camping now, and they urge me to give it another chance. I seriously doubt it. I can handle camping if we’re staying in a cabin — a cabin with running water; a cabin that is house, really. But sleeping on the ground in a tent? I’ll pass. The only way you’ll catch me sleeping on the ground is if I pass out, which — let’s be honest — is entirely feasible.