For all of our differences and snitty points and persnickety goo-gahs, one thing that I can say about Mister Cupcake and I is that we know how to travel together. We know how to have a blast on the road, armed with our gear: our coolers, our chairs, our blankets, our pillows, our wash basins, our Fresh Wipes, our tarps, our bikes, our helmets, our step ladders that attach to the back tire of our Pop-Top Honda Element, our headlamps with various useful settings depending on what activity we’re doing, our stove, our french press coffee maker, our prairie town color bowls, our REI coffee mugs that keep things hot for half a week, our cozy sleeping bags that would keep us warm on Mount Everest, our hats, our sunscreen, our plates that match our bowls and mugs, our kitchen satchel that includes garlic as well as kosher salt, our cutting board, our italian restaurant tablecloth, our books, our miniature chess set, our cards, our music, our wine, our sleeping pads that conjure up the feeling of sleeping on a Sleep Number bed, our maps, our journal, our snacks, our portable Cooper bowls, our fleece clothing, our travel sunglasses, our colander for draining freshly boiled pasta, our toilet paper and shovel if needed, our super sonic dishwashing liquid along with the most moisture absorbent towel known to man and the teamwork and wear-with-all to pack all of these items perfectly into the exactly proportioned containers to hold them snugly like a Rubik’s cube.
But there’s one thing we don’t have. And that’s sanity.
You see, prior to each and every glorious road trip, we have a glorious ongoing argument that is based on the ratio of camping vs. hotel time we will put in. Mister Cupcake would camp every night if he had his druthers and I would camp slightly less than half of the time if I had mine. We both present our arguments, that the other has heard for the last 11 years and we cha-cha back and forth until we hammer out an itinerary that both of us are mostly happy with. But I have to say, along the conversation railroad, the train gets quite close to derailing because we both want what we both want and that is a dynamic that has been present in our relationship since the millisecond that we became coupled. Which brings me to my point and my conclusion:
WHEN IT COMES TO MATTERS OF THE HEART, IT’D BE BEST ADVISED MY DEARS, IF YOU CARRY A CONCEALED MUSKET.
Compromise My Ass,
Margarita My Way