Not really hell or high water ...

I'm not sure what low temperature my sleeping bag is rated for. Not very low, I'd guess. I'll find out this weekend. It's never been tested beyond the chilly atmosphere of the back room of my parents' house, which is pretty cold as houses go, but it's wimpy practice as "roughing it" goes.

Come rain, snow, wind or (dare I hope?) sunshine, I'll be pitching a tent and my indoors-friendly mummy wrap and having a final girls' weekend with J before she heads North! To Alaska!

It's been two years since I last went camping (oddly enough, also with J), and I'm not known for my outdoors-tough persona. I like running water and comfy mattresses and central heating. I like them without apology.

But I'd like to claim to be Wyoming tough, too, and that's going to need some practice and polish.

Can "tough" be a weekend pursuit?

In unrelated news, I watched "Finding Nemo" again last night, and I'm more convinced than ever that I'm a Dory-in-the-making.

And I'm terrified of that.

Did I mention I'm terrified of that?

The night before, I watched "The Princess Bride" and enjoyed an hour and a half of some of my favorite quotes of all time. Of. All. Time.

Bill Goldman, you're a genius.