While dating, my husband suggested moving into a camper after marriage. He said it would be great for a lazy tight wad like me. I denied him this request, as I was a sensible woman with plans for a more realistic lifestyle, one that included a house firmly positioned to the ground. Isn’t that what marriage is about? Buying a house and spitting out kids to occupy the rooms and create messes to clean up? I didn’t dare say that I secretly thought it could be fun and I apparently had no concept that RV living made total sense for an adventure seeker like myself. I had my nonexistent child to think about! That baby would not live in a camper! Also, my husband is a giant (6’5”) and who wants to live with a hunchback? Campers are TINY! And RVers are old!
Thinking back, I could have saved myself a lot of trouble by actually contemplating his idea instead of turning it down. It is one of the weirdest regrets I have in my life. I like to believe I’m an adventurous type, and this seemingly small dismissal is in stark contrast to my personal creed. I suppose if those two clauses are true, then it must mean living in a camper is an outrageous idea, so outrageous that even a young frugal girl living in a hotel room about to move cross country to live with her boyfriend’s parents in order to be close to him, cannot even give the idea the time of day.
So how did I change my mind about RV living? What kind of life changing event could have occurred for me to live in a glorified trailer? Comment below and I’ll respond hot or cold!
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