Yes, my dad was into survival. Dad did it flawlessly, we had our own stove in there. We were in the middle of nowhere. We had several riveting rounds of UNO and it was warm enough that we hardly needed our sleeping bags. Since this picture is just too precious for me to leave alone, let me just share that I did get into my sleeping bag that night and woke up with the bag entirely zipped up with my head at the bottom. I flipped out and nobody knew what to do and it was some time before the whole family was up with a light on and trying to figure me out of this thing. I was hysterical. Have no idea how I got to the bottom of my bag in my sleep. All of this story sound like a lot of psychological smothering imagery or what folks? Oh, and my grandmother tripped and fell miles away in Manhattan that night same night and died on the spot. Maybe when I was bugging in the bag?
1 comment:
There is no coincidence.
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