CAMPOut: It's Not Fair!!!!!!!

We’d tell the cable crew we’d be home some time between noon and 4, and then hit the beach, leaving them looking at their watches in their sweltering truck on my driveway…

I’d re-record my answering machine.

• If this is a credit card offer, press 1

• If you are calling from a long distance phone company, press 2

• If you are a telemarketer trying to sell me something I don’t need, press 3

• If you’re calling to solicit donations for my alma mater you must be kidding

And after having them press a dozen numbers, followed by the pound sign, I’d program the phone to revert to a dial tone. Buh-bye. Oh, and if a telemarketer asks “Is your husband home?” he or she would simply be zapped with an incapacitating electric shock.

Every time I had to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, or thought I heard a strange sound, I’d wake the dogs, make them go outside (sometimes in the rain) and then make them wait patiently for me to be ready to go back to bed.

I’d tell the HMO “I’m sorry, that charge is over my personal customary and reasonable amount, so I’m only paying $20, and $10 of it is your co-pay. As for the mammogram, my having breasts is a pre-existing condition so I’m not paying you every year to look at them.”

I’d tell the folks building our garage that we’d write them a check on Monday, then say my pen hadn’t been delivered, so they’d have to wait until Tuesday, and then on Tuesday I wouldn’t show up at all, and then on Wednesday I’d remember I was out of checks and…

Instead of Anna Nicole Smith or the exemplary Osbourne family on reality TV, we’d get the real life of Jodie Foster and her family.

Rehoboth locals would have cars equipped like James Bond to bulldoze over tourists’ mini-vans blocking our intersections. And, for good measure, we’d spray tacks out our exhaust systems directly in front of their SUVs. (Oh, is it ever August…)

There’d be the same number of hot dogs in a package as there are hot dog rolls.

Only Lesbians wanting offspring would menstruate monthly. The rest could do it only once a year like other large mammals.

Diane Sawyer and Katie Couric would be forbidden to feature three-month long wedding profiles, contests to pick the most fabulous love story, or other such alienating twaddle until they agreed to feature at least one gay couple in each group.

Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson would have to apologize for besmirching the reputations of all lesbians, since we aren’t even IN the Bible.

Stress would induce dramatic weight loss, clear up your complexion, lower your cholesterol, and give you an edge with Publisher’s Clearing House.

Maitre d’s seeing two women coming into a restaurant together on a Saturday night would immediately lead them to a prime table (Yeah, like that would ever happen).

Emergency Rooms that make you wait five hours would be mandated to be called Waiting Rooms. And Trauma Centers could retain the name only if they treated trauma rather than dispensing it.

Instead of Americans going to Kosovo to monitor elections, they’d send Eastern Europeans to Florida to monitor elections.

Grown-ups could open child proof containers.

Anyone sending you glitter or confetti in an envelope would have to come to your house and vacuum it up; ditto for businesses that pack things in Styrofoam peanuts.

Bottled water and tofu would be horrible for your health and Belvedere Vodka and funnel cake (no, not together) would be hailed as miracle cures. 

Only candidates who support the Delaware HB99 Anti-Discrimination bill would be elected this fall.

And finally, if life were really fair, headlines would read...

“Heterosexual serial killer arrested in California;” “Heterosexual priests settle with families of molested girls,” “Heterosexuals quaffing green beer parade through town on March 17”...you get the idea.

Fay Jacobs is pooped and awfully glad it’s nearing Labor Day and Letters is reverting to its monthly schedule. She can be reached at campoutreho@aol.com