“Oh, look at that pretty robin flying around!”, my mother exclaimed. I stared up at the sky, squinting. “I don’t see it,” I complained. My mom made a face that said “seriously?” and pointed to a random speck in the sky. I said, “Oh, that.” I mentally groaned. I hated this stupid camping trip. My mom said it was meant to foster our relationship and help us bridge the gap between our differences. It was supposed to be a “fun activity”, but so far it had been torture. My mom forced me to start the fire and stake the tents. It was extremely hard and had me sweating buckets by the time it was done. I turned the hot dog over, only to discover my talents did not lie in the culinary field, punctuated by the fact that the hot dog was a hundred percent burned. My mom glared. “I’ll eat it.” I volunteered, knowing it wasn’t a voluntary option. As I chomped on the burnt hot dog in a flat bun, I decided that this was forcing the gap between me and my mom’s differences even bigger. (188 words)
