“We don’t have to go on any kind of formal [read: expensive] vacation,” he explains with his usual maddening male logic. “Just go away each weekend”
M y little boy is going to sleepaway camp.
My husband is gleeful; I am laying out sackcloth and stocking up on ashes. The boy’s father thinks it will be a great experience build his self-esteem increase his confidence help him forge new friendships.
But he’s my youngest and I envision all kinds of horrors awaiting him in the Catskills: snakes nits toe fungus an entire month of pizza-and-French-fry-type nutrition… I order a book entitled Survival in the Wilds of the Borsht Belt which I hide under the industrial-sized sunscreen and insect repellent I smuggled into his luggage.
I drive him to the bus. It’s raining but I’m wearing sunglasses for obvious reasons. He strides up the steps of the bus without a backward glance.
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