Making Do

The holiday cabin smelled of wet pigeons but it was lakeside and cheap. The lake was not popular, too deep and weedy for swimming, too shallow for docking boats, yet it suited our make-do mindsets. Of course, we were romantically attached at the hips, feet glided upon air as we wandered upon the pebbly beach fingers entwined in a dank mist. Graham crackers and marshmallows were unpacked alas the firepit was soaked with too much leafy fog. A desultory fire was sparked in a damp bed beneath a mildewed roof. We had only tomato soup, tough bagels and a pack of Marlborough. We had not planned for chills and hunger. Inevitably the vacation grew lukewarm. Runny noses and sneezes, the cheesy smell of wet footwear all seeped deeply into our gestalt, philosophically we bailed on the quickly drenched dream, and each other.