Packing

It's all about the packing, isn't it?  What do I take, how many suitcases and how many pairs of shoes?

I am beginning to feel the packing panic.  It keeps me up a little bit longer each night.  It invades my sleep--now I dream of suitcases and jetways, luggage carousels and 3 oz containers.  This always happens a week or so before we leave on vacation.  I call it the mental travel crazies.  It's a part of who I am.  I walk around wondering if I have enough of everything.  I constantly ask myself--what am I forgetting?   I always forget something--at least one thing.  Maybe it's my toothbrush, or my favorite lip liner, or my deodorant.  There's always at least one item missing when I check into my first hotel.  Thus the feeling of panic.  What is it?

For this trip, I've already convinced myself that I need new luggage, even though I know that by the time my flight lands in Rome my new suitcase will look like it's 3 years old.  It really kind of ticks me off.  I've sat on planes and when looking out the little windows have watched the airline crew throw suitcases around like they are worn out scraps of carpet.  They hit the ground and bounce and I think--man, I'm glad that wasn't mine!  However, in reality, when the wheels touch the ground and I disembark, and there on the carousel stands my suitcase, I am excited to see that it made it and isn't somewhere off the coast of Antarctica.

I've bought several, yes, I said several new pairs of shoes, trying to find the perfect stylish comfy shoe that will go with most of my outfits.  I now think that is a lost cause.  If they're cute they hurt.  They should be required to put that phrase on the shoe signs.  That way when looking you could pass right on by the shoes that hurt.  They should have a sign that says--ugly shoes here but oh so comfy. 
I am ready though, I have bought and plan on taking boxes of band aids in all shapes and sizes.  I've been down this road before--band-aids and I are great friends.  I am curious though, why do I only need them when I am in Europe?  I blame the cobblestone streets--not my new shoes.

I'm in the zone now.  I've got clothing, shoes, and luggage laid out all over the bedroom.  I've got house sitters and neighbors all on high alert.  I've got lists a mile long--lists of last minute details like when to stop the mail, when to kennel the dog, when to, well, when to everything, right down to get out the passport.  I've planned and planned some more--
And then there is my husband and the way he packs.
Usually the night before, he'll meander down to the basement, grab his suitcase and stick it in the bedroom.  Sometime during the next morning, he packs.  And I use that term loosely.  He'll throw in a couple pair of jeans, a couple pair of chinos and a few golf shirts and yell out--I'm done!   He'll stand there smirking with his jacket thrown over his shoulder and his Italian loafers on saying
I'm ready, let's go--
there's got be a way to get back at him...

I know--along with new luggage and new shoes and I'll need new pants and some new shirts.  Oh and jackets, don't forget the jackets.  Oh and scarves...well, we are going to Paris too you know!