Cottages

I really hate cottages. The whole idea of a cottage is absurd. One owns a cottage, which is ideally located a mere two hours away from one’s house. Every friday, the family rushes into the the car right after work (most likely an SUV, hmm?) and drives the two hours north to said cottage. (By the way, 50% of the population will be joining you with their families in their SUVs, on the same highway.) After a stressful, trafficky, horn-blaring drive, (one needs to speed, too, so as to “get there at a reasonable hour”) one reaches “cottage country”. (Did I mention this voyage is done at rush-hour?) So it’s 8PM, the kids are whining and restless, one and one’s other is exhausted, and one is at said cottage. Woo-fucking-hoo.

One goes to bed.

Saturday morning is spent...well...raking, cleaning eavestroughs, “getting the deck ready”, cutting branches, and on and on...’cuz one is never there, right? So one has to get all the “chores done”. Right, lunch, and back to work.

Saturday night. A few beers, some godforsaken burnt burger with the godforsaken kids who want to go get drunk with the other kids in town but you won’t let them even though they will come home at 11PM and why can't they and one is the worst parent in the history of parents and why do they have to stay here tonight? A fun-filled evening of playing cards with the whining, unfriendly kids, and the quite too friendly mosquitos until it gets dark. 8PM. Time for bed. One is, after all, exhausted from the day's proceedings.

Sunday morning. Help bring on an early heart attack and monitor the kids so as they don’t drown themselves swimming in the open lake that is full of jetskis and drunk boat drivers, have a quick lunch, and guess what?

You gotta pile in the car and head home to “beat the traffic”.
Oh, did I mention everyone else in cottage country has the same idea and leaves in their SUVs at exactly the same time?

That’s relaxing at the cottage.