I’m not usually an angry person. I’m not the most couth, but it takes a bit to make me seek revenge. And when I do, it’s usually in an entertaining way. I think I may have watched too much of The Parent Trap when I was little. Or maybe I just had an overactive imagination. Either way, sticking my tongue out was never good enough for me.
When I was going to an eight week summer camp in Maine (and no, my parents weren’t that rich. My mother worked for the camp), there was a special trip in the middle of the two four-week sessions. It was supposed to be an added perk for the kids who stayed the whole time. I think it was really a plot to give the counselors some time off and the cleaning crews a chance to make sure no one had lice or bedbugs in their mattresses.
One year, we went on a special camping trip, during which the main event was hiking up a “mountain” and canoeing back down. There are a few stories from that ill-fated weekend, but this story is about crush boy.
Crush boy had a crush on me. Inventive naming, I know. He wouldn’t leave me alone. But not in the nice, let me give you chocolate and pull your chair out for you at meals kind of way. In the let me torment you until you give in kind of way.
On the day of the big “mountain” climb, he managed to get in my group. The whole hike, he wouldn’t leave me alone. I mean, who needs peace and natural splendor when you can have a pubescent boy who has yet to learn the value of deodorant yapping in your ear? I survived the hike and was looking forward to some nice quiet time in the canoes. But somehow, crush boy had managed to get partnered with me! That kid’s father must have had a poop load of money.
I tried to ignore him as we paddled down the river. But after an hour of his telling me that kissing him would increase my social standing at camp, I snapped. I’m not proud, but it happened. I waited until the safety boat was behind me and the river was calm and there were people swimming nearby, convinced crush boy to stand up, and swayed just hard enough to knock him out of the canoe. I then paddled for Jesus while the safety boat picked him up. I claimed I couldn’t steer the boat well enough to come collect him so the counselors would have to haul his butt down the river. I could steer fine on my own. I could have gone to get him, but instead, I put my feet up and enjoyed a lovely float down the river. Crush boy never spoke to me again. I call that a solid win.