My tent, it seems, was displeased at having to lay quietly dormant in our shed these long summer months since its purchase. To be truthful, a camping trip had been planned quite soon after its arrival, but we ended up sleeping in the car instead.
And now, long months after its original outing, it saw the light of day! Oh what a magnificent flutter and ripple it made—like a child bursting at the seams, eager to gain freedom from the tethers which bind it to the stroller, my tent struggled to break free of its bag and romp on the high-spirited desert wind.
Once it was somewhat firmly lashed down in one corner it would playfully tug up one of its stakes and go dancing off on the wind yet again, playing and stretching itself on the breeze, free of the awful dank and cramped space its vacu-sealed factory assigned bag and box in my shed had afforded it.
Finally, as I possess not only the superior intellect, but the opposable thumbs of MAN, with much colorful language as well as even more help from my husband, I beat the damn thing into submission and am now lying prone, slack in awe and exhaustion, staring up at the ceiling of my tent watching the way the light refracts through the nylon and mesh, and listening to the tent dance in the wind in a joyous taffeta cacophony.