It happened one Sunday...

Well, it finally happened.

I finally said the stupidest thing I've ever said, ever, and hopefully ever WILL say.

It happened so quickly that I relived hearing the words in my head at least 5 times before the sound actually registered and the words erupted into the atmosphere.  Even as I was reaching to snatch them back and swallow them, it was too late.

They were out there, never to be unsaid.

It happened like this:

Dan and I were driving to a camp site along the St. Lawrence River to hang out with his family, all of whom unexaplainably like camping.  

(Right?  Why?  WHYYYY?)

I'm not a camper.  I was raised by wolves campers and spent my childhood being dragged through the wilds of every remote part of the western United States and Canada, being forced at gunpoint into a canoe/kayak, shot down the fastest and most treacherous rivers available with nothing between me and certain death but a piece of fiberglass and a paddle, and tortured nightly by having to sleep in a tent with only a thin piece of nylon keeping the grizzly bears and wolverines at bay.  I spent weeks shivering in the rain, being devoured by mosquitoes and eating freeze dried concoctions that my mother never would have forced upon us in civilization, like Chicken a la King (wtf is it, anyway?), Turkey Medallions and mixed vegetables (hurl) and dried milk in our glutenous bowls of oatmeal cooked over a campfire.  You haven't lived until that was your breakfast every morning for 6 weeks.  

So yeah... I've dedicated my adulthood to not camping.

Dear Not Camping,  I love you more!  No, I love YOU more!  You hang up!  No, YOU hang up!!

(Note how I'm procrastinating about disclosing the actual Really Stupid Thing I said?)

Anyway, as I was saying:

We were on our way to hang out at a campsite with Dan's parents and some random relatives.  (The only thing that got me in the car was the promise of booze once I got there and the close proximity of a bathroom that didn't involve porta potties.)  

As we were driving down some picturesque farm roads in a part of the state I've never seen before, we passed what appeared to be a Deer Farm.  (I don't get it, either.  Deer Farm??  Why????  There are 6758495867 bazillion deer roaming the streets of northern New York.  Do you really need to breed them, too?)  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something that didn't seem to belong.

Then, this happened:

These words will go down in infamy.  They will appear on my headstone.  Life, as I know it, will never be the same.

Me:  "Oh my God... LOOK!  A baby camel!"

*cue sound track of my life*

Dan:  *slowly turning his head to look at me*

Me:  *scrambling to shove the words back into my mouth*

Dan slowed down, turned around and drove back by the deer farm.

There, lurching happily among the fawns and yearlings, was an ungainly baby moose.

Dan:  "Camel?"

Me:  "I didn't say that."

Dan:  "No, seriously... a baby camel?  In northern New York?  Because, why?  The climate is so arid and camels would thrive here?"

Me:  "Shut up."

Dan:  *losing it*  "HAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!"

Me:  "IT COULD HAVE BEEN A BABY CAMEL."

Dan:  "No, it couldn't have been.  Oh my God, I can't breathe... HAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!"

Okay, in my defense:

Baby Moose... Mooselet?  Mooseling?  Whatever.

Baby Camel.  

SEE????

Just because the probability of a camel appearing in upstate New York, land of water, mosquitoes, green grass, and Amish, doesn't mean it couldn't have happened.

And why the hell would I be expecting to see a moose, when I haven't even quite adjusted to the reality of deer farms???

Meanwhile, Dan had a glorious time on the drive home pointing at random bits of livestock and shouting, "LOOK!  A BABY CAMEL!"

(Have I mentioned lately that I hate him?)

In other news, I learned first hand that drinking half a gianormous bottle of Bailey's Irish Creme WILL make me throw up, possibly for days.

Me, camping.