Get Me Off of This Island!

“Get me off of this island!” said many desperate characters. Every character on LOST. The rich couple on Gilligan’s Island. The volleyball on Castaway. And me.

We’re on Week Three of Drummond Island. It’s a neat place, sure. There’s plenty of campsites and RV parks. There’s a Marina or two. There’s a few restaurants, an IGA, and an ice cream store. There is, however, not much else. Oh, and the shower water smells like Sulphur, i.e., rotten eggs, which kind of defeats the purpose of washing oneself.   

Camp Hair, Don’t Care

Camping isn’t all that bad. It’s an excuse, after all, to indulge in two of my favourite pastimes: reading for hours on end, and, not brushing my hair. Combing, blow-drying, and styling aren’t high on my priority list. Not now, not ever. In elementary school, my best friend, Leah, casually mentioned, as we preened in the bathroom mirrors of Balsam Street School, “Tamara and I made a list of the prettiest girls in our class. You could be right up there, in the top five, at least. If you combed your hair.” Her intervention didn’t succeed.