Several summers ago when our granddaughter Apricot was visiting us, the OB&C declared that they should go camping. He cleared a level place in the woods up the hill from the house, built a fire ring, surrounded it with luminous pink plastic “adirondack chairs” (visible from the international space station) and declared it ready for action. We hauled up the tent, readied the gear, and headed back to the house for pre-adventure cocktails. Well, as one can imagine, after a pop or two the thought of trudging up the hill through the woods in the gloom of night to sleep on the ground in a tent became less and less appealing. Being a traditionalist as well as unimaginative, he hauled out that old workhorse, the rain delay ploy. “Uh oh, I think I just felt a sprinkle, yes, definitely felt a sprinkle, no doubt about it. With this heavy weather coming in, we probably ought to wait until tomorrow.” Good luck with that, think she just fell off a turnip truck? He neglected to factor in that he was dealing with a 4’5”, 43 lb hunk of forged steel with the determination of an army ant who was NOT to be denied her promised camping experience. Apricot struck a defiant stance, shot him a withering look, grabbed her sleeping bag, pillow and knapsack , donned her head lamp and stomped out of the house in her pajamas declaring, as she climbed through the darkness to the tent. “We’re not quitters, we’re campers! “ The OB&C trotted after her like a whipped dog.