Some people are enthralled with camping. Die-hards have 10-room waterproof tents larger than most houses. Their sleeping bag is more extravagant than the linens on their bed at home and their pocket knives include expandable spatulas and can openers.

I’ve tried “roughing it” and hope to never be forced to give it a go again. It’s not that I don’t love sleeping bags – as a kid, my mom couldn’t stop me from “sacking out” in our living room. It’s just that waking up, rolling over and getting poked in the rear by a tree stump isn’t the kind of wake-up call that has me leaping for joy each morning, or worse, in the middle of the night. The prospect of insects is where I draw the line. The sight of a tarantula-looking spider making its way across the roof of the tent is enough to make me want to shrink-wrap myself.

You might ask, “why does she have such a negative viewpoint on camping?” You see, when I was younger, my friend Susie and I went to a different church camp each summer. We’d rotate choosing which camp we’d attend, and our parents would alternate dropping us off and picking us up.

Susie was pretty good at selecting camps – somewhat close to home, nice cabins and great people. I, on the other hand, had a record of choosing the more vigorous, non-enjoyable trips. These were camps that left us crying in the woods together two days into the week-long trip. Camps where the counselors would play tricks on us and threaten to steal our canteen money. Camps where the entire first day was spent carrying our gear miles into the woods and scouting an area to pitch a tent, followed by hours of chopping sumac and digging out tree stumps while the mosquitoes took full advantage. Camps where the Kool-Aid contained an earthy medley from the “stir stick” the counselor picked up off the ground. Camps where the only place to leave a deposit was a box placed over a hole in the ground which happened to be in the same part of the woods where poison ivy threatened lives.

After six years, I decided to put my camping excursions to rest. Looking back, I’m not sure why I stayed involved for more than a year. Susie, on the other hand, went right on picking her own camps and eventually became a camp counselor – though never at the kind of camp I had chosen. To this day, I feel as if I owe her some type of an apology for the horrific experiences she had to endure, but I know deep down there is no way to take back the effect that wilderness camp had on us.

Since breaking the pact with Susie, I haven’t had to worry about camping. My family has never been. It has never even been an option. Nobody has brought it up. Nobody has expressed interest, and nobody misses it. Oddly, my family is pretty outdoorsy. We’re always up for grilling, canoeing, sitting around a campfire or taking an occasional hike in the woods. I enjoy these as well as other outdoor activities, but I always return home afterward. Why? Because I like plumbing, I love showers, and I really, really enjoy brushing my teeth.

This leaves me wondering why anyone would ever want to camp for a vacation. From my point of view, camping is more a form of detention. Why would you remove basic amenities from your life as part of a vacation? And I don’t mean cell phones, computers and curling irons. I’m talking beds, bathrooms and safe drinking water.

Since so many people love it, it’s obvious that I’m missing something, but cheers to you campers! Enjoy going back to the basics. I’ll see you when you get back to town.

Shootin’ the Wit is a weekly column about everyday life that should never, ever be taken too seriously.