No one ever said my family isn’t adventurous. On our last impromptu vacation, we rented a dilapidated cabin for a spelunking trip in search of mushrooms. My parents are amateur mycophiles, but I think they have some delusion that they’re experts. Still, my mom was the mastermind of our trip and handled all obstacles with aplomb. She wasn’t at all squeamish about having to grapple with the slime and mud inside the caves. We all did our best to follow her in tandem.
I wish my parents didn’t have quite so much wanderlust. Quadrennial vacations would be perfect! I’m a bibliophile—and a logophile. I have oodles of fun reading good books, but I’m a fussbudget when it comes to the glitches that occur in the great outdoors. I’m incorrigible that way. I yelp when an insect lands on my arm and nag my parents to head home. I am hardly docile on these adventures.
It would be great if my parents were cinephiles and we could collaborate on plans for a relaxing night at the movies. If they were ailurophiles, we could stay home with our cats. If only they were turophiles, we could eat cheese indoors and avoid the natural elements! But the fact remains that my parents are natural-born adventurers. In the future, I promise not to sabotage my parents’ plans with my woebegone protests. Travel is their bailiwick and if they want to explore, I will always be ready for a punctual start.
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