Bossy and her husband and daughter are currently enjoying their annual vacation in a bucolic Vermont campground, where bucolic equals Bossy puts the colic in bucolic.
The trouble begins this past winter, when Bossy called to reserve the annual campsite — and when Bossy says she called to reserve the site she means she made her husband do it.
So there was Bossy’s husband on the telephone, and he was all, “What do you mean our annual campsite is already booked?”
And so a scramble ensued, in which Bossy’s husband shoved a campsite map under Bossy’s nose and told her to select an alternate campsite, which made Bossy all kinds of happy because Bossy loves change as much as finding out Ikea’s drinking glasses are now a wholly unusable size.
After much negotiation, where negotiation equals gin, Bossy selected an altogether inferior tick-addled, poison-ivy filled campsite next to a road.
Except, council? Bossy and her family love it!
The campsite is larger and flatter and twenty-seven steps closer to the campground bathroom and it features a longer picnic table and trees which shade against the late afternoon sun.
And the being situated near the road thing doesn’t bother the Bossy family in the least because few cars travel down the road, and when they do, the car’s engine obscures the sound of marriages ending, not the least of which is Bossy’s own.
Let’s take a closer look at Bossy’s current set-up, shall we?
So what’s the problem, you ask? The problem is that Bossy and her husband were so upset this past winter when making the campsite reservation that they finagled things so they would stay only two days in this new site before moving everything twenty-seven steps northeast to their old favorite site.
So what’s the problem, you ask? The problem is now Bossy kind of hates her old site and doesn’t want to move — but her current new and favorite site is booked beginning tomorrow.
Let’s have a look at Bossy’s old site where Bossy will assume occupancy tomorrow, shall we?