Gary continues to prepare himself for the most far-fetched wilderness disasters. At first he just prepped for possible doomsdays (we get lost, we get blisters, snakes bite us) to impossible doomsdays.
This last web-binge netted him:
A firestarter! Look Ellen, a firestarter!
... because you always need to be prepared to start a fire in the Grand Canyon? A signal fire? When we get lost? Because we'll somehow be alone in one of the most popular national landmarks?
A "Sanitation Trowel" - because you have to be prepared to dig a hole and poop in it.
I could have gotten all huffy about this. I could have said "I'll never use that," only then I remembered the Eggs Benedict Albuquerque Episode, and while I don't know if I'd have used a trowel to bury ... the ... the ... processed Eggs Benedict, I probably should be ready.
But then he bought something we had to use to hermetically seal up our used toilet paper so it can be toted back to the hotel. No. That gets buried. He can take his home with him but mine gets buried.
Then while I was insisting that none of this will EVER be used, when he proudly showed off his last purchase ...
A Feminine Urinary Deflector! Look!
"You really expect me to use this? You. Expect me. To put this thing in my pants, tuck it in zip up, then when I feel the need, whip it out, stand by a tree and pee?"
"Not at first, you'll have to practice a few times."
"Really? I'm not doing it." He screams if there's a chance he might glimpse me on the toilet. He keeps yelling at me to lock the door. (I know. So unsafe.)
"But you migt have to, and we need to be prepared."
That was an hour ago. I now want to pee standing up just so I can pee on Gary.