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I try to yank it down as hard as I can, but the stupid little metal tab just digs into my fingers.
“You piece of shit!” I growl at the turtle grinning up at me.
Not caring about the consequences, I grip the two sides just above the jammed zipper and tear the sides apart like Hulk.
Except the fabric holds. Not a single thread tears.
“What?!”
I yank harder, hunching into it.
But it doesn’t fucking rip!
Rolling onto my stomach, the sleeping bag twisting around my body, I press my face firmly into my pillow and let out a shrill scream while kicking my feet.
My bare toe collides with a cool hard surface, and the alarm goes silent.
I lift my head from the pillow.
Did I really just snooze the alarm with my tantrum?
The silence brings a level of calm back to my little polyester room.
After one more inhale, I put my weight onto my elbows and army crawl forward, worming myself out of the sleeping bag.
Finally free, I ignore the loss of warmth and pull my sleeping bag out of the tangle of blankets. Holding it upside down, I shake it, and my phone finally slides out, screen showing the countdown until the alarm will sound again.
There will be no snoozing for me. One, because I want to hurry up and snag a shower before everyone else is in there. And two, because there’s no amount of money that would get me back into that Teenage Mutant deathtrap right now.
I shift into a sitting position and let out a small groan of pain. My entire body aches. It feels like I slept on a bed of nails.
What adult chooses to vacation like this?!
I rub at a particularly sore spot on my hip.
Two more nights. Just two more nights.
I already sorted out my clothes for today and put them into my backpack. All of my outfits are going to be pretty much the same. A pair of black leggings. Thick socks. A thong. A full coverage sports bra. A tank top. A long-sleeved shirt. And a zip-up hoodie. Not very stylish, but functional. And that’s the important part.
Pulling my jacket over my pajamas, I make sure my shower stuff is in the bag too and unzip the tent.
A handful of other adults are already milling around, but everyone looks just as exhausted as I feel, so we all just nod our greetings and leave it at that.
Entering the restroom, I hear water running but find that only one of the four shower stalls are in use.
Picking one, I push into the small space and lock the door behind me.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a campground shower, but this seems about on par with my memory. Maybe even a little nicer than I was expecting. The shower stall is divided up into two sections. The first is about half the size of a typical toilet stall. With the door at my back, there’s a small bench on my left and a couple of towel hooks on my right. Then right in front of me is a thin white shower curtain that stops about a foot above the floor.
With more acrobatics than I’m interested in doing this morning, I eventually strip naked and slip on a pair of cheap flip flops. Under no circumstances am I standing here barefoot.
Shivering, I yank the shower curtain back and step in.
Doing my best to run through my shower routine quickly. I keep the water temperature just above lukewarm. I don’t know how the pipes work in this building, but I don’t want to be the person who uses up all the hot water. Although, after the start of my day, I’m not willing to martyr myself under completely freezing water.
When I’m done rinsing, I turn the handle, stopping the stream of water. I squeeze the excess water out of my hair, pull the curtain open, and stare at the empty towel hooks.
“Oh, fuck me.”
