blog 10-wet and not so wild-emanuelle sippy

It was the summer after 2^nd grade. Our first week of wet and wild camp. We had waited to be old enough, tall enough, and brave enough. Now the time had finally come. After an arduous, bumpy bus ride, we take off tie-dyed shorts and ugly, orange, camp-identifying t-shirts (you know the kind you still have a few of in your closet even though you’d never wear them), wait in line, holding our inflatable above our heads. At last, the lifeguard gives us the good to go thumps-up. Seconds into (what felt like) a massive water slide, engulfing my friend and me, a siren goes off. My friend, extremely afraid of tornados, immediately assumes the worst. I know we were only stuck in the dark with the blaring sound for a few minutes, but when we hit the water and tumbled out of the tube, it turned out she was right, unlike every other time with her irrational interpretations of the weather report. We spent the whole day sheltered by the smelly, soaked locker room shed. For me, the day panned out to be more uncomfy than anything else, but timing truly is impeccable, right?