This bush is the girl’s bathroom, that bush is the guy’s.
I just returned from my fourth big camping trip, three of which I’ve embarked on with a handful of guys. Two out of those three trips were in the desert, which means there wasn’t a lot of ground coverage and we usually didn’t even set up tents because it was relatively warm, and bears weren’t around to gnaw off our limbs while we slumbered. Especially with spending a week in the back-country at a time, that meant we had to get a little creative; walking half a mile over the next ridge or dune to achieve a little privacy, and not changing clothes until we got back to civilization.
And then there’s the whole process of mentally preparing yourself to be okay with a bunch of your peers seeing you like that–covered in dirt and sweat, your hair a mess, no makeup, a face full of acne, and wreaking to high heaven (after all, you haven’t bathed since you left). The good news? The guys smell so bad that in comparison, you’re like a daisy, and after spending a week in the back country dealing with each other… you’re a female, so it’s impossible to look bad.
The best things about camping with a bunch of guys? They’ll carry your backpack if you’re too tired, and it gives you an excellent excuse to take a break from the ridiculous standards of our modern culture and focus on what really matters… and realize that those are the same things that really matter to whoever you’re worried will judge you.