Later, we moved up in the world. My parents purchased a pop-up. For those of you who are not campers, first of all, I commend you on your choice, and secondly, a pop-up is the result of a tent mating with a trailer. You wind a handle and the top of the pop-up expands upwards, extending nylon sides. This way, you get to feel slightly superior to the "Tent People," as Phyllis calls them with a disapproving sniff, while still having the joy of walking in the dark to the communal campground bathroom, which is usually carpeted with angry frogs.
The pop-up inspired my dad to write his classic hit, "Pop-Up, Oh, Pop-Up." The lyrics are quite moving. I have reproduced them here in entirety:
Pop-up, oh, pop-up, a twelve-foot pop-up
Queen size bed on one end
Pop-up, oh, pop-up, a twelve-foot pop-up
Won't you go camping, my friend?
[Repeat endlessly]
Eventually, our population of dogs outgrew the pop-up. We decided to make the leap to a real camper, with a real roof and a bathroom. Dad had to rework his song for this step up:
Camper, oh, camper, twenty-eight-foot camper
King-size bed on one end...
The first camper my mom and dad picked out was a real beauty, decorated in shades of teal and featuring a bathroom so small you had to shave your legs by standing in the shower and extending one leg into the sink, teetering precariously over the miniscule toilet and desperately attempting not to topple through the flimsy door and into the dog-packed living area. This camper also featured bunkbeds that were nearly completely enclosed. You clambered into them through a two foot-wide opening, covered with a pleated curtain, and then spent the night imagining the coffin-like walls closing in on you. There was, to be fair, a six-inch wide window, through which you could watch the parade of Tent People march to the bathroom for more water to extinguish their space heater fires.
Luckily, a couple years ago, Mom and Dad got into the big leagues and bought a new camper with a slide-out section in the living room which expands the area marvellously, from a cramped space into a slightly less cramped, awkwardly shaped space. This camper has a larger bathroom, featuring a shower that my brother can almost stand upright in, and a dining table that converts into a bed. It is almost, but not quite, one tenth as comfortable as just staying at home.
Phyllis loves camping. Her thriftiness extends into the rustic wild; for example, Dad grilled steak one night, and Phyl discovered that she had no Tupperware or Ziplocs in which to preserve the last cubic inch of steak that we didn't eat. She couldn't bear to part with this prize, and so she carefully wrapped the scrap of meat in a plastic salad bag and squirreled it away for the next day. I'm sure she felt an immense glow of pride when she ate that half-bite of beef for breakfast.
But the ultimate best display of thrift has to be the Camping Pillows. Mom has a special set of houseware for camping - plates, cutlery, linens, etc. The Camping Pillows are pillows that were so flat and pitiful that nobody would sleep on them in our actual house. Dad wanted to throw them away. But don't worry! Mom saved the day. She cut up some foam egg-crate material and stuffed the pieces into the pillows. Dad was so impressed he had to take a picture.
Another successful money-saving venture. Let's all go camping!
