Maybe getting your dress stuck in the door of a moving car and having to run in heels to keep up with it to prevent impending doom? Or being forced to gorge yourself with a food that you absolutely despise for an extended period of time? Or maybe having your face pounded in by a mixed martial arts fighter? If you haven't yet caught on, it's pretty safe to assume that packing is one of my least favorite activities in the world to do.
This all started when we decided to go home for a week to celebrate the hubby's 30th birthday with family and friends. Is there really a better way to welcome the forth decade of your life than to spend a completely relaxed week filled with good friends, good food, and good music? Probably not. The thing is, when you are unsure of exactly what activities will fill the days and nights of your trip, and you're going back to a place where the only thing more unpredictable than the weather is the amount of weight that you'll put on by the time you return home (thanks to the amazing food that you can't find anywhere else,) it becomes very difficult to choose an appropriate wardrobe to bring. Add to that the fact that your one carry-on item must be replaced by your 13 pound spoiled rotten Maltese, which means you are allowed a total of two bags under 50 pounds, and the dilemma is further exaccerbated.
So, this little situation is what led to me sitting on the floor of my bedroom, surrounded by a mass of chaos that can only be described as looking as if my closet threw up. After remaining stuck in the cycle of packing, unpacking, reconfiguring what I can bring, repacking, weighing the suitcases, realizing I'm still over on weight limit <sanity pizza break> figuring what outfits can be reworked and what jeans can be worn twice, sadly narrowing shoe selection to only two pairs of black boots (one which will be worn on the flight, how's that for space saving!), two pairs of heels, one pair of tennis shoes, and two pairs of sandals, and repacking - again, I have finally managed to get my two suitcases to right below their maximum weight limit, which, to me, feels like completing a freaking marathon - in record time (and by that, I mean taking longer than it's ever taken anyone else to complete.)
Ok, so I have to admit that I have the slightest touch of OCD (hold the laughter,) which is probably a huge contributing factor to my packing-induced mania. The hubby initially thought that my stress over packing was funny, and that it seemed far more complicated than it should be, but that was over 24 hours ago. Now, I'm pretty sure he just thinks it's ridiculous. He's completely given up on our night out at the movies in lieu of watching a Cops marathon, which I'm sure he's not terribly torn up about. But I have to admit that even I am a bit aggravated with myself at this point. Because, truth be told, it really should not be this difficult. It seems so much easier for a guy to pack: a few pairs of jeans, a few t-shirts, a sweater or two, a jacket, underwear, socks, shoes: done. If something gets worn twice or even three times, so be it. At least that's my hubby's attitude. So, why isn't it that easy for me? Two words: Anal Retentive! As I just mentioned, I am definitely OCD, or, as a friend's mother once put it, I have "CDO - I have to put the letters in the right order." I have to agree, I guess I'm a little obsessed with perfection, and I have no problem with admitting it because clearly it's true, and looking back on the last 24 hours (or the last 24 years) I have to have a good laugh at myself.
So, to end this little poke at my obsessive, anal retentive, can't make a decision self, all I have to say is that the weather better be relatively mild back home, and we can only go out someplace really nice once. Other than that, let's keep it relatively casual - because if I have to shop for new clothes while I'm home, my only option will be to either ship them back to Vegas or leave them behind :(
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