“Do you have bug spray? I’m pretty sure I’m dying.” Feet swinging off the edge of the dock, Anita groaned obnoxiously. She pushed up the sunglasses that had slid down the slope of her nose as a result of her fidgeting, stared down in dismay at the small red bumps that decorated her forearm. Camping was not something she particularly enjoyed. In fact, she had begged anyone who would listen-- multiple times-- to plan an anti-camping trip in protest. Even the idea of glamping sounded ridiculous to her, and she was adamant about expressing her frustration with her fellow students. She turned to Vicki now, twisted her body to face the other woman. “We really could’ve been in Malibu right now. Fiji. Bora fucking Bora.... but no. Maine. We’re in a glorified summer camp in Maine. Why does God hate me?” @ofcvicki