My idea of roughing it is a 3-star hotel, and here I am signing up for a weeklong camping adventure.
My ideal vacation includes, day spas, theater, and fine dining—not bugs, dirt, and bears. When Chained announces its Little Summer Camp, I have no interest. None. Why can’t it be a week in Paris or splashing in white-foamy waves and playing on the beach on some tropical island? I could really use a week of being little and surrounded by playmates.
During a night of little fun, the hot daddy I’ve been eyeing asks me if I’m going. I forget the thousands of reasons I shouldn’t be and sign up on the spot. What am I thinking?
