Funny thing. My sister loves camping and is always after me to go, but she hates creepy crawly things and will stomp them unceremoniously if they dare cross the threshold of her house. I, on the other hand, will coral the little creatures and put them outside my humble abode. Very Buddha of me, I know. Camping is a different story. She doesn’t seem to mind them in the tent or doesn’t realize they’re there, whereas I get nearly paranoid about being trapped inside a nylon bag with the little buggers and will squash them on sight. Everything in context, I suppose.