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Last summer I went camping with my mom and my friend—let’s call her Jess—who has a talent for turning even the simplest trip into an adventure of minor annoyances and unexpected laughs. If you’ve ever camped with someone who insists on doing things “their way,” you’ll recognize parts of this story. If not, consider it a warning and a template for surviving (and enjoying) the chaos.
There are some trips you look back on with pure nostalgia: the crackle of a campfire, the smell of pine needles, and the sound of a loon crying over a glassy lake.
Then there is the trip I took last summer. The one I am going to tell you about. The headline reads: Camp With Mom and My Annoying Friend Who... well, who nearly drove me insane.
If you have ever been stuck in a tent with two people from completely different planets, keep reading. This is the story of how three days in the wilderness became the ultimate test of patience, friendship, and family loyalty.
The first sign of trouble is the packing phase. Your mom packs like she is preparing for the apocalypse: five rain jackets, a first aid kit that could perform open-heart surgery, and three coolers for a two-night trip.
Your annoying friend, meanwhile, packs a suitcase. A suitcase. For camping. You watch them unzip a hard-shell rolling suitcase on the dirt driveway, revealing:
You look at your mom. Your mom looks at the clouds and pretends not to see.
Survival Tip #1: Do not comment on the suitcase. If you do, you will be forced to carry it to the campsite.
“You can’t pick your family. Or your best friend. But you can survive both in the woods.”
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Sunrise comes. Your mom wakes up refreshed and annoying chipper.
Mom: "Who wants pancakes? I brought the cast iron skillet!" Alex: "I’m gluten-sensitive today."
Today. Not yesterday when you ate gas station pizza. Today.
Your mom tries to make gluten-free pancakes using a frisbee as a plate. Alex pokes at the food and asks, "Is there dairy? I’m also dairy-sensitive on Tuesdays."
You eat a granola bar in the woods, alone, pretending to look for firewood just to get away from the conversation about Alex’s "chakra alignment."
This is where the phrase “Camp With Mom and My Annoying Friend Who” becomes a full-blown reality TV show. Last summer I went camping with my mom
My mom is a camping ninja. Within fifteen minutes, she had the tent staked, the sleeping bags rolled out, and the fire pit ready. She moved with the quiet efficiency of someone who has been doing this since the 90s.
Chloe, meanwhile, stood in the middle of the site holding her phone to the sky, walking in slow circles.
Chloe: "I have zero bars. Like, zero. How do we post our Stories?"
Me: "Chloe, we're in a national forest."
Chloe: "That doesn't sound legal."
She then spent the next forty minutes trying to “commune with nature” by spraying lavender essential oil on every rock near the tent. My mom, who is allergic to strong fragrances, started sneezing uncontrollably.
I wanted to crawl into the cooler.
This is where "Camp With Mom and My Annoying Friend" transforms into a horror movie.
At 10 PM, your mom falls asleep instantly. She does not snore. She saw logs. It is a low, rumbling noise like a truck stuck in mud. You look at your mom
At 10:15 PM, Alex starts whispering.
Alex: "Are you awake? I think I heard a raccoon." You: "Go to sleep." Alex: "What if it’s not a raccoon? What if it’s a skinwalker? I watched a video. Do you think this land is sacred? We should apologize to the trees." You: "Go. To. Sleep." Alex: "I have to pee. Will you come with me? I’m scared of the dark. Also, your mom snores. Should we wake her up to check if she’s breathing?"
You do not sleep. You lie on your inflatable mattress—which Alex accidentally deflated while trying to "fluff it"—and stare at the tent ceiling, fantasizing about your own bedroom, your weighted blanket, and the sweet silence of solitude.
If you have ever shared a tent with an annoying friend, you know the night is the real trial.
At 2:00 AM, I was jolted awake by a noise. It wasn't a bear. It wasn't a raccoon. It was Chloe, whispering at top volume.
Chloe: "I think I heard a twig snap. Are we going to die? Do you think Mom will let me sleep in the car?"
Mom: (groggy) "Chloe, it's a squirrel. Go back to sleep."
Chloe: "Squirrels can carry the bubonic plague."
She then proceeded to turn on her portable fan (which sounded like a lawnmower) and try to call her mother using the emergency satellite beacon my mom had brought for safety. My mom had to physically take the beacon away.
I spent the rest of the night staring at the nylon roof of the tent, wondering if it was possible to be murdered by annoyance. Surely, that should be a crime.