The cacophony of singing campers continued in the background as the tripper girls cleared their table and then filed out of the dining hall.
Barb and her two girls entered the dining hall and sat down. The kids all sleepily greeted each other. The LITs were zipping about, tossing bowls of steaming oatmeal on the tables.
The sound of thunder cut through the noise. The singing ceased as two of the Deer hut campers squealed. The dining hall doors burst open and the campers poured in as the rain began to pour down.
“Now what happens, Mum?” Daughter One tapped me on the shoulder and asked as we watched the deluge out the window.
“I’m not sure. Go ask Father Brian.”
She hopped out of her chair and approached Father. “What happens at camp when it rains, Father?” She shyly asked.
“Indoor instructions,” Father answered.
I squinted trying to imagine how one could practice swimming or archery indoors.
“Sounds like a challenge.” I said.
“Oh, you know, they cover safety, theory, first aid. That kinda jazz.” Barb explained.
“That sounds…fun.” I nodded as Daughter One returned to her seat.
“That sounds boring.” Daughter Two whispered. I smirked. I had to agree. It did sound rather dry.
“And what happens to the trippers?”
“They go tripping.”
“In the pouring rain?”
“In the pouring rain.” Father confirmed.
“That sounds miserable.” I grimaced.
Father shrugged. “Builds character. Besides, a canoe makes for a great umbrella.”
We sang our Grace and then sat down. I doled out the oatmeal into the kids’ bowls. I noticed Chelsea approach Father Brian and crouch down beside his chair.
“So Father, I have to make a run into town this morning with the van and I understand that you need some items picked up at the hardware store. Do you have a list that I could take for you?” Chelsea offered helpfully.
“You are making a run?” Father asked looking rather confused. “That’s unusual, isn’t it?” Chelsea blushed in response. I looked away and took a spoonful of my oatmeal.
“Well…I have an appointment this morning in town, so I figured I could do the pick up.”
Father gazed at her for a moment still seeming confused. Chelsea looked at him and seemed to crumple.
“I have a problem with my lady bits.” Chelsea blurted out. I barely managed to swallowed my oatmeal.
“Please. No.” Father Brian held up his hand. Chelsea stopped and hung her head. “It is not my business, Chelsea. Just make sure your instructions are covered. The list of items is on the bulletin board in the office. Thanks for your help.” Father said as he fumbled for the van keys on his key chain and handed them over to Chelsea.
“You’re….you’re welcome Father.” Chelsea stood up and left to get the list.
“You know,” Father said quietly as he leaned over to me, “there are somethings that I thought I would avoid by my career choice.”
“One of those things was any discussion that included the phrase ‘my lady bits’.”
“You thought wrong.”
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