the lap of luxury

Cooldown.

We've got nights in the 40-some degree range these days (for all you Celsius-heads, 40 degrees Fahrenheit moves us from cool to cold, depending on your wussiness level), so I toted an extra blanket into my tent and found myself in a miniature version of a Mongolian yurt.

Covered in blankets as I was, I suddenly understood the allure of a living in a tent-like dwelling with layers of heavy softness above and below me. Were I a man without flapping, gelatinous man-boobs, I might seriously contemplate living life on the steppes, charging across the great flatness upon my ferocious pygmy horse, downing prey with my bow and arrows, screaming cheerful imprecations at the sky divinities, and returning to my yurt to make sweet love to my (and possibly my friends') women. Yes, that would be a good life.

Good enough.


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