Excerpt: I Might Be Wrong

Packing Up My Troubles in the Old Kit Bag

I don't know why, but I have never managed to learn how to properly pack for a vacation.

I start out fine. I obsessively make lists of what I'll need to take with me, down to the last detail. Each pair of shoes, each pair of jeans. Two pairs of black socks, two pairs of white socks. I write down the number of pairs of underwear I need to fit into the suitcase. I catalog every last toiletry, in the order that I will use them, for fear that I will leave my toothbrush behind on the bathroom sink if I don't include it on my list, scribbled in between the dental floss and a tube of toothpaste.

(Laugh all you want. I've found myself on my way to my destination before when I suddenly realized while winging my way towards New York City I have forgotten my brush or a pencil for my book of inflight crossword puzzles. There's something to be said when the sinking feeling in your stomach drops a full 30,000 feet.)

I write out my list and check it twice, thrice, a dozen times like the OCD member of the Claus family. I locate each item on my list and methodically lay it next to the suitcase I've selected for the trip, carefully separating out the clothing that I will be wearing during the actual travel time. I mentally pack the items carefully in the suitcase, envisioning each outfit to assure that I haven't neglected anything. And then I take a deep breath and...

Then I start to second guess myself, of course.

I look over my list. Do I really need that many T shirts? Should I pack the red tank top instead of the green one? Should I pack both of them? If I pack the red one, it won't match with any of the button down shirts I've laid out. I'll need to pack the black shirt. Where did I put it? Is it in the laundry hamper? Is it hanging downstairs? Are those the right earrings for that outfit? What if it gets cold? Maybe I should throw another pair of jeans into the mix. And what should I wear if we go somewhere dressy for dinner one night? Can I get away with wearing the same dress that I'd planned to wear to the club the first night? Should I pack a cover-up for my swimsuit, or can I just get away with throwing on a pair of shorts over the top of my suit? Maybe I should take a more comfortable pair of shoes, just in case my feet swell and the black sandals give me blisters. Nail polish. I should pack nail polish, just in case I feel like giving myself a manicure before we go to the club. But what color? And where's the jar of polish remover? What? It's all dried out? OK, now I need to run to the drug store. I need to make another list.

Two hours later, I've got half of my wardrobe strewn across the bed, including four scarves to wear in my hair, just in case I feel like pulling my hair back one night. I don't really need them, because my hair is layered and only two inches long, but... shit, I really should dye my hair before we leave. Maybe I should toss a few hair clips into the bag....

Somehow, by utilizing a fuzzy half remembered knowledge of spatial geometry from my sophomore year of high school, I manage to just barely fit everything into the suitcase and zip it closed. And that's when I realize the shoes I'd planned on wearing during travel time are buried in the depths of my impossibly overstuffed luggage. I unzip the bag carefully, hoping that I can just dig along the sides and find the shoes without disturbing the rest of my carefully packed clothes.

I tentatively run my hand beneath a stack of precariously stacked T shirts, furtively feeling for the heel of my shoe. Steady... steady... it's like I'm playing an oversized fabric game of Jenga. Almost there... just a little further...

It goes without saying that the tower of T shirts explodes out of the suitcase like a jack in the box. Unfortunately, the structural collapse triggers a chain reaction of falling socks and underwear. I'm left holding one shoe, staring into what appears to be the aftermath of a small laundry bomb detonating.

Worse yet, I still need to retrieve the other shoe.

So yeah, I'm not looking forward to packing for this trip. The unpredictable nature of our impending road trip means I'm having to use my best guess when making out my preliminary list. To complicate matters further, I need to keep in mind that the storage space for the luggage itself is at a premium. We're taking Devin's car, which has absolutely no trunk space. Somehow we're be attempting to pack my luggage, Devin's luggage, both of our laptop computers, two camp chairs, a 28 quart cooler, two bags of road snacks, and my incredibly bulky purse into the confines of his Toyota Yaris and still manage to fit ourselves into the car. Looks like I'll be breaking a few laws of physics tonight.

Damn, I need a drink. Too bad I can't reach the cooler.