Camp Rock, it was not.

Oh, my. I am going to be in so much trouble. I know I am. I'm going to be in a big, fat, heap of it.

Y'all are going to tar and feather me. And then smear Pop Rocks alllllll over me. Then you'll probably delight in dragging me to the nearest church holding Vacation Bible School and feed me to the droves of small children.

Please don't. I can explain.

I have just been dismissed from Vacation Bible School.

Let the tarring begin now.

But look! Here's the dealio. I have been "sitting on go" the past few days to fly home to Texas. I knew the call would come - I just wasn't sure when. And then wouldn't you know it, that sweet man that I referred to only days ago as God's example of what fathers should be called me and told me he would be in Houston to pick me up - TOMORROW.

As in, "Tomorrow, Tomorrow, I love ya, Tomorrow. You're only a day away!"

Isn't that just something?

I wanted to tell him "no." Really, I did. I wanted to tell him that I had to refuse the ticket and stay tucked away in Capt''n Jack's Snack Shack. But alas, I could not. It would not have been right. He would have been disappointed. And have you ever had to disappoint a man who once shaved off the mustache he'd worn since 1964 all because you told him he looked like an 80's porn star? You can't hurt him twice, you just can't.

To be perfectly honest, there are other reason's I'm headed home. All of which I'll tell you about. Eventually. Someday. Maybe.

But in the mean time, you'll just have to trust me.

Besides, let's take a look at me + VBS. Shall we?

I had to push a cart. Up a hill. In the sun. And that's kinda like hard labor.

I had to push "strawberry drink" on to small, unsuspecting children. And I don't want to be blamed for the obesity epidemic in our children today. Okay? I'm already dealing with my own stuff.

Then there was some song they played where people got up and "cha-cha shuffled" to the left and to the right. Okay, I don't dance. And I've never even heard this song before. So as everyone shuffled, I downed Goldfish out of a Dixie cup. And I'll be honest. There were a few Capri-panted teachers that should have let the chil'lens do the dancing.

So see? Maybe it's just not my year. Maybe I should just go home to mom, work on my shuffle and come back and show them what I'm made of next year. Maybe.