I don’t know how it happened, but somehow my son is crazy. I mean, seriously crazy. Apparently, one time when Junior was 8 or 9, we drove past See Grins RVs and I said, “I’d love to get an RV and travel all over the place.” Somehow, that one, innocent remark turned into, “Once you move away to college, Dad and I are getting an RV and traveling the United States.” I know this because he came home last weekend and asked us when that was going to happen. (Side note: I’m sure it was because he missed me and not because he missed having clean underwear.)
First of all, I don’t remember saying that. And I honestly cannot imagine any conditions under which I would say that—unless I was being tortured or something. But Junior has a clear memory of my saying that as we sailed down the freeway and saw the See Grins sign. I have to trust him on this; My memory is not nearly as good as his. Last week, I was all excited because it was Friday only to discover that it was really Tuesday. I cannot tell you what a bummer that was. It made the entire week slow.
And let’s not even go into the fact that even if I could remember the days of the week, I am not nearly old enough to be in an RV with Harry. Retirement, according to our 401(k)s, is many, many years away. In fact, according to our investment dude, retirement is available to us sometime around the age of 99. Or 100, if we want to use nice round numbers. Possibly 80, but that means only eating two meals a day for the rest of our lives and one of those meals must consist of ramen noodles and the other meal is a delicious combination of air and photos of nice, juicy steaks.
But right now? Yeah, that’s not happening, especially with college bills to pay. Do you know how much it costs to send your child to college? It’s astronomical. I swear we could educate our son or sponsor space travel. And let me tell you, sponsoring space travel is tempting. When astronauts come home for the weekend they bring space rocks, not dirty underwear.
But what is not tempting is spending my golden years in a traveling house that measures less than 400 square feet with Harry, two dogs that bark terror alerts when they see a leaf blow off a tree, a lizard and one bathroom with inadequate ventilation.
Not happening.
And seriously, who wants to spend all day on a freeway, travelling around? If I wanted to do that I’d get a job with a commute. And you know that Harry would never stop to ask for directions. We could spend days in the Bay Area, wandering from freeway to freeway and never, ever make it out alive and on the road out of here.
Besides my strict no camping policy, there are safety issues. Look, I understand the convenience of traveling with your house. There are no hotels to check into. You can travel with your animals (although, again, with my dogs that’s a double-edged sword). You don’t have to pack and unpack. But I’m going to spend most of my time seat belted into the front seat because I’m one of those people who always uses a seatbelt. I never take it off, not even for a brief second.
So how would I nap? I mean, there is a full bedroom in an RV so I should be able to nap on the road, right? No. There aren’t any seatbelts on the bed. Or the toilet. What if Harry had to make a sudden stop? What if there was stop and go traffic? What if we traveled up a steep hill? Or down one? And please. In a house, I don’t have to empty the waste disposal thingy. Waste just disappears. I don’t know where it goes and I like it that way.
All of this is why I’m positive my son is crazy. I would never agree to the insanity that living in an RV with his father would bring. On the other hand, I might have been seduced by the idea when I saw the cute See Grins sign. I just love that horse.
