So I’ve never in my life had a real s’more. I believe it requires you to actually go camping. Apparently roasting marshmallows with the fire from your gas burner isn’t s’more-worthy. So the cat’s out of the bag, I’ve never been camping either. While I find the romance of camping tempting (sleeping under the stars, becoming one with nature, etc.), I fear the reality (bugs, wild animals, did I mention bugs?) would make me absolutely miserable.
After college I moved to New York with my faux bro. He wanted to live in Chelsea (of course, don’t all gay New York men?) so I found us an apartment on 25th street. We lived in a two bedroom railroad apartment that required you to walk through the kitchen to get to the bathroom at the other end. This was a source of hilarity for pretty much every visitor but it was perfectly normal to New Yorkers.