Tuesday, August 16, 2005

Only 9 more days

I can barely contain myself. I have to cover up the desk blotter with the calendar on it. Nine more days til we go on vacation. I have lists to make, things to buy, all this build-up for one week at the beach with Stribble and the kids (4-legged kind). Stribble won't make a list and will pack the morning we leave while he warms up the car. As such, he will arrive at the beach house with three pairs of shorts, two t-shirts, the shoes he has on and no toiletries other than a toothbrush. And I will be forced to begrudgingly share all of my thoughtfully packed towels, shampoo, toothpaste, comb, dental floss, conditioner, face wash, scrubby thing, q-tips, and razor. Every year. And this sets vacation off on a bad note, every year. What if I acted like that. What if I just hopped in the car the morning of and slapped the car door a few times and yelled "daylights wastin" to him as he eyed the small grocery bag of personal items thrown in the otherwise empty trunk. What would he do? Just once, one year, I wish I had the guts to do it. But no. I pack cards, and cameras, and film, empty notebooks, binoculars, bird books, shell books, scrabble, card game rule books, suntan lotion (2 different spfs), sunburn lotion, floppy hats, flip flops, beach towels, bath towels, outside shower towels, dish towels, etc, etc. And he packs himself and 1.5 changes of clothes. Perhaps this will be the year.

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