I am packing for holiday. Two hours into the experience, I have learned many things about myself – baffling and somewhat troubling things…
90% of my clothing is black. Seriously!!! I could attend a funeral every day for a week and never repeat an outfit. I possess 9 black t-shirts and only one white one. And the white one looks great because it never leaves the closet.
I hate summer clothes. No matter how many times hubby reminds me that it will be 24 degrees in Milan, I continue trying to stuff cardigans and wraps into my suitcase. I feel pretty in layers. I feel fat in shorts. Period.
I have an unnatural attachment to my shoes. All of them! I am literally trying to take 3 pairs of boots (all black) with me. Hubby has pointed out that they are all short, black boots, and that I might be able to cut this back to one pair. But one has a slight heel. One has an open toe. And one is a little bit higher so it lets me wear more comfortable socks. It is a Sophie’s Choice situation!
I have clearly given up on sexy underwear. When did that happen? I used to have at least a few lacy tidbits scrunched up in the back of the top dresser drawer. Now, my undies all look like they came off the set of Mad Men. And while the rest of my wardrobe is black, most of my underwear is a very unattractive, pantyhose-brown colour. Yuck.
I require an odd number of drugs for someone who is not sick. Advil. Gravol. Imodium. Vitamins. Gaviscon. And my thyroid pill (the only one that is actually “for” something). Truthfully, some of it is for hubby, whose stomach goes crazy when he eats out too often. But still…
There is a poltergeist living in my house and it hordes hairbrushes. This is the only possible explanation. I buy them. And I buy them. And I buy them. But when it comes time to travel I always wind up shlumping off to the drugstore at the last minute and buying a new one. Two actually… because there obviously has to be a hairbrush left in the house after my departure.
Strangely, upon my return I will undoubtedly find a hairbrush on the kitchen counter (gross!), and several in the upstairs bathroom, cluttering around the sink. Damn that poltergeist.
I have no interest in thin books. My bedside table is a mountain of hardcover, 500+ page masterpieces. And, yes, I do own a Kobo reader, but I stopped taking it on holidays after a disastrous trip to the Dominican in which it suffered a “Glitch” on day 2. I wound up reading Harlequin Romances from the gift shop for the remainder of my trip. Lesson learned. The Kobo is no longer my travel friend.
It takes a lot of make-up to achieve that “make-up free” look. Ladies… you all know what I am talking about.
Patience is not my thing. After only two minutes of waiting on hold with Air Canada (just a minor matter) I was already reaching for the corkscrew. Thank God for wine!
I truly did marry my soulmate. What hubby lacks in organizational skills he makes up for in tolerance. I have asked his opinion about my black boot situation at least 3 times. And ignored his opinion at least 3 times. I have been dropping F-bombs like a drunken sailor throughout the packing process. And I have switched suitcases twice – each time requiring him to repack too.
Yet he is calmly checking his emails; stretched out on his side of the bed as though nothing is happening. That is true love, my friends! True love is being able to completely accept the other person’s crazy.
I am sure we will have a great time in Italy together… if I ever manage to finish packing! And when we get there, I will have all the drugs he needs for his sensitive digestive system. And his shaving kit (which he forgot to pack). And his bathing suit (which he forgot to pack). See? Soulmates!