I am flying to a dear friend’s wedding, halfway around the world.
I am alone.
A few thoughts:
1. It’s hard to pack off-season. Call me unimaginative, but when it’s pissing freezing rain or snowing, I have no bloody idea what to pack when I’m headed to 65 and sunny. Standing in front of my closet last night, I could not for the life of me remember how I dress in the four weeks of Seattle summer, when it’s 65 and partly cloudy.
So, I packed just about every light item of clothing I could find. And six pairs of shoes for four and a half days.
Somewhere in there, there has got to be an outfit or two.
2. Even with all those shoes, it is a hell of a lot easier to pack for one than to pack for seven.
3. There are no pacifiers, sippy cups or fuzzy blankets in my luggage. If I packed any of the above by accident, I will march into the shitty little airplane toilet and jettison them immediately. Same applies to Cheerios and crayons.
If I find a diaper I will set it aflame.
4. It’s awesome being alone, but it’d be ten times the awesome if I actually got to go somewhere alone with M. Rushed dinners and the movies do not count. Neither do parent teacher conferences.
5. When I flew to LA for two nights in October, I posted on FB that I had purposely put on an old pair of grandma underwear (navel high, thankyouverymuch). That way, if the plane went down, M could take one look at my remains and just know that I was not sneaking away for an illicit weekend.
I have done the same this time. If I can’t travel with M, then I’ll at least bring all my God-awful, stretched out pregnancy underwear with me. I’m very thoughtful that way.
6. If you find yourself sitting next to me on the plane, please pretend you do not know me. I plan on sitting in silence for as long as possible. Just me, my six books, my three pounds of dried fruit, and my ancient underwear.
M doesn’t know what he’s missing.