Casting Tent Shadows For Quiet

A poem on Vocal reminded me how much my husband and I dislike camping. He completed 21 years in the military and won't camp now. We want COMFORT. We want beds, a TV, a stove is great, or at least a microwave, and a bathroom with a shower.

Background:

I can rough it and have done so many times. My life has given me many adventures, some of which just happened and some that I created. I don't need fancy. I really don't care for outhouses. Many are disgusting, and my husband, if with me, usually checks it out first. I will use them if I must, but I can go in the bushes and have many times in the U.S., in countries in Africa, in Canada, and in Germany, to name a few. I had camped BH (before him) with others in Wisconsin and Alaska. He took me camping a few times in Washington State, where we live and where he was last stationed in the Army.

Campsite:

I always wanted to go camping because I love the woods and mountains and the quiet in the wilderness. With him still on active duty, we headed to Mount Adams, which was not, and still is not, as developed as the other mountains around here, with no national park services but lovely campgrounds. Camping was cheaper than motels and in touch with nature.

The few times we did camp, he packed the vehicle and set up the tent, wanting everything precise, as (he feels) only his hands could do. (Fine with me!) The campsite was his area, and there was no arguing. I let him control the cooking, clean-up, setup, and breakdown of the tent and campsite because that is how he liked it. I could sit in my camp chair, read my book, or he would hike with me. I was a spoiled camping wife with absolutely no chores!

We enjoyed the outdoors that weekend with cooperative weather. It was beginning to get dark, and the nearest campsite to us had a beer-guzzling, loud, rowdy group, perhaps ten years younger than we were. As night fell, the noise, drinking, and partying continued. When we began to yawn about eleven o'clock, we climbed into our tent and laid down.

The revelers were not winding down at all, and we couldn't fall asleep. We didn't want to be awake all night, and I grumbled, wishing they would shut up. My husband turned on our small camp light in the tent and looked at me.

Silencing Revelers:

"I can make them shut up."

"You can? How?"

"Come here." I scooted over to him, still flat on my back. He hung the camp light on the inside roof of the tent so that our shadows could be visible through the walls. He winked at me. Then he got to his knees and pulled me to him, lifting my legs to his shoulders.

I began giggling madly because I knew what he planned to do. Both of us fully clothed, he began rocking back and forth, groaning and making noises, my legs on his shoulders. I'm giggling and laughing, and he is rocking, simulating sex. Less than a minute later, there was total silence from "next door." The light in the tent outlined our antics, shocking them to silence. We lay there laughing, our sleeping bags covering our guffaws.

The noisy neighbors were gone when we stepped out of our tent in the morning.

Privileges

You know the saying, "Age has its privileges?" We live by that now.

We have slept in our car before and after we met each other; also in RVs, on small and large boats, and even once on a stranger's living room floor. When we travel now, it is in comfort, usually to a condo or sometimes to a hotel.

Have you ever had an experience like this? What did you do?