Rusty Mitchum

Rusty Mitchum

Six years ago when this story appeared, a lady wrote to the paper complainin’ that the article was “lascivious.” Well, I had to look up that word and found out, to my surprise, lascivious is not a book of the Bible. Who knew? Anywho, I’m rerunnin’ it for some of my friends who had never read it.

I asked my wife Janet if she and her girlfriends ever camped out when she was a kid. She said no, but they had a lot of slumber parties, and she said that she bet that they had as much fun at her slumber parties as we did on our campouts. Well, I sort of doubt that. In fact, if she and I had kept diaries of her slumber parties and my campouts, I bet they’d be something like this.

Dear Diary: We had a slumber party last night and had so much fun. Janet

Dear Diary: Me and my cousin Coy and Little Rusty and Wee Whoa and Greg Hunt camped out last night. We had a blast. Rusty

Dear Diary: We had a lot of good treats to eat at the slumber party. There were sandwiches, M&M’s, popcorn and my favorite, Rice Krispie treats. Janet

Dear Diary: We put a couple of cans of chili on the fire. One exploded and scalded the crud out of Wee Whoa. Luckily we got the other can off the fire before it blew. It sure did taste funny though. Rusty

Dear Diary: The first thing we did after it got dark was to go out and wrap Johnny’s house. We used 10 rolls of toilet paper. Johnny is so dreamy. Janet

Dear Diary: We rode our bikes into town and went by that creep Johnny’s house. Some idiots had wrapped it. We stopped and got some of the toilet paper. Looks like we might need it. That chili startin’ to work on us. Rusty

Dear Diary: I got to show off my new pajamas at the slumber party. Janet

Dear Diary: I had to throw my underwear away. Stupid chili. Rusty

Dear Diary: We played all sorts of games last night. We played Candy Land, Operation, Pick-up-sticks and Twister. Twister’s the best. I’ve never laughed so hard. Janet

Dear Diary: We played strip poker and the loser had to run down the street nekkid. Note to self: Learn how to play poker. Rusty.

Dear Diary: We played the record player so loud that one of the neighbors called and complained to my parents about the noise. Janet.

Dear Diary: Mr. Parker called my dad and said he saw somebody that he swore looked like me runnin’ nekkid down the road. Rusty.

Dear Diary: Mom came into the room and told us we had to keep the noise down. Janet

Dear Diary: Dad said he was gonna come to see if that was me runnin’ nekkid down the road, but decided that he really didn’t want to know. Rusty

Dear Diary: We talked about boys. We made a list of who was dreamy and who were a bunch of creeps. My Johnny topped the list of the dreamy boys. A boy named Rusty was the only one we could think of for the creepy list. We laughed as we thought about the poor girl who would end up marrying him. Janet

Dear Diary: Well, the conversation finally made it to the discussion of girls. We all talked about this new girl at school named Janet. Va va voom! Unfortunately, she won’t give me the time of day. But someday... . Rusty.

Dear Diary: We stayed up until two o’clock in the morning. That must be some kind of record. Janet.

Dear Diary: It’s nine o’clock in the morning and I still haven’t slept. You know, we’ve camped out nearly every weekend since I got that new sleepin’ bag last Christmas, and I still haven’t tried it out yet. Rusty

Dear Diary: The party was a success. Everyone had a wonderful time. Janet

Dear Diary: The campout was great. Nobody got hurt. Well, not countin’ the chili can explodin’ all over Wee Whoa, Coy droppin’ his huntin’ knife and stickin’ it in the top of his foot, Greg’s eyebrows getting singed when he threw the lighter fluid in the fire, or Little Rusty gettin’ his lip hung in the zipper of his coat. Man, that looked painful. Well, at least I didn’t get hurt this time. Rusty

Dear Diary: Note to self: At next slumber party wear new pedal pushers to show the girls. Janet

Dear Diary: Note to self: At next campout, wear extra clothes for strip poker. Oh yeah, and pack extra underwear. Stupid chili. Rusty

Rusty Mitchum lives in New Harmony, Texas, where he writes a regular column for The Lindale News and Times. He says the only reason he writes is to keep the voices away.