I was supposed to announce the winner of this week’s contest yesterday. As it turns out, all blogging duties get put on the proverbial back burner when one is preparing for Girls’ Camp.

That “one” would be me and L. We’re doing a spoof on the BBC television programme “How Clean is Your House”, which is ironic, because…well…you figure out the irony.

So I will take a moment to announce the winner now:

I liked that Joel wrote, “Men in Need of Camille’s Honest Everyday Ramblings,” but it didn’t make me laugh hard enough. Honourable Mention, Joel.

I also liked SparklieSunshine‘s clever and extended definition of “Mincher,” but alas, I needed more of a laugh. Honourable Mention, and nice to meet you, SparklieSunshine.

The real winner of the contest would have been my anonymous friend–who could have won by sheer volume of votes alone–but the contest did require a blog link. So though I appreciate your input, I’m sorry to say that you didn’t win. [Same goes for you, RatalieNose!]

And so, partly by default and partly by sheer humour, the winner of the word verification contest is…

…Loralee! Her comment was just the sort of absurdity I needed this week. Check it out in Tuesday’s comment list. Loralee, send me an email with your address [and don’t forget to include the retailer of your choice], and I’ll get the $25.00 gift card in the mail next week.

As soon as I get back from Girls’ Camp. If I get back from camp, that is.

Thank you to everyone for your entries, and welcome to anyone new who’s stopping by. I wish I could give you a better welcoming, but I’m heading out of town this weekend (to Girls’ Camp, in case you didn’t pick up on that already). I’ll be back by Tuesday, posting updates on the hilarity of my weekend, to be sure.

But before I leave, here’s a story for the weekend:

I pulled into my local QT to fuel up Tamra Camry before tomorrow’s long drive to Girls’ Camp. Lindsey, my partner in Girls’ Camp Crime, was sitting shotgun, and thank heavens. Just as I was about to open my car door, Lindsey shouted, “Camille! Is that Leroy* and Ken*?”

I looked, and it was indeed Leroy and Ken. They were parked in front of the doors to QT, leaning against the vehicle that Lindsey had so shrewdly identified. Leroy was my summertime boy a few years ago, and Ken is his partner in crime. Things with Leroy ended rather abruptly that summer when I packed up my belongings and moved to Canada. And we haven’t really talked since.

This is because I avoid Leroy at all costs. I have a deeply entrenched fear of all things awkward, you see, and I just have a feeling that any conversation I could possibly have with Leroy would be immensely awkward.

On account of me being married now [to a Canadian I met the summer after I left Leroy to move to Canada].

On top of which, it’s no secret that since getting married, I’ve really let myself go:

And while it’s fine and dandy to hear the advice, “Camille, you should really exercise. And get your hair fixed,” there’s not really anything I could do about it right there in the QT parking lot.

So instead, without a second thought, I started Tamra Camry, threw her into drive, and–as inconspicuously as possible–squealed out to the next closest QT.

And Lindsey didn’t even question my decision–we’re one like that.

*Names changed for privacy (and prideful) purposes.

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