Musically Gifted? Well, I Used to Play the Recorder...

Eighteen: Insert Some Kind of Witty Name Here

            “It’s so much fun!” Cindy gushes, her saccharine smile once again finding its way onto her face. She turns her attention to me. “Do you go camping much, Bailey?”

            Ugh... does she purposely try and make my life uncomfortable? I swear she can read my mind, which allows her to ask the most awkward on-the-spot questions almost guaranteed to embarrass me.

            Right... cue my expert fibbing skills.

            “Oh, yeah!” I say, trying to look intellectual and serious (ha!). “I camp all the time. I love it. You know, I’m a real outdoorsy type.”

            Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of Savannah looking at me strangely. Her dark arched eyebrows are furrowed in minor confusion, peering at me curiously. “But Bailey, I thought you said you hated–”

            “Hahaha!”

            That forced laugh was probably a bit too forced, earning me strange looks from almost everyone at our table. Whatever. It did the trick, didn’t it? Shutting my best friend up, which was my main goal.

            “Uh, yeah, I said I hated...” Come on, Bailey, time to put your quick thinking skills to good use (which would be a lot easier if they actually existed). “I said I hated sleeping bags.”

            Now would be a good time to just stop talking and crawl under the table. However, I have to continue this to the bitter end, as everyone’s perplexed expressions have only increased in severity. What is wrong with me when it comes to spontaneous thought?

            Everything. I guess it’s too challenging for my brain.

            “Sleeping bags?” Tom echoes.

            “Um, yeah,” I say, resisting the urge to cringe majorly. “They’re always really scratchy and stuff. But you know, I can get over it. Doesn’t stop me from camping. Which I love doing.”

            Well, this is freaking painful.

            “Right,” Tom says slowly. It appears as if he’s trying to suppress a laugh that desperately wants to escape his lips. The same probably goes for everyone else, too. “Anyway...”

            As the group resumes their scattered conversing, I want to put my head in my hands. I think I should just cease all human interaction altogether – at least that would prevent me from embarrassing myself every minute of every day I spend on this planet.

            And now, on top of all the other stressful, complicated and downright confusing crap that happens to be my life, I have to now deal with a camping trip.

            With the most sickly sweet person ever to exist, the commitment-shy Greek God, the guy who I kissed (kind of) unintentionally... not to mention fifty kids.

            Just another standard day in the life of Bailey Cunningham.

***

            Whoever invented camping is a complete and utter idiot.

            I’m completely serious – anyone who thinks spending the night in a cold, dark and damp wood with nothing but a flimsy piece of material for protection and warmth is fun should be in some kind of mental institution.