Trip ahoy

It’s D-day for the ladies-only beach trip and this body is as good as it’s going to get. The closest I got to dieting was that this morning I skipped breakfast.

Preparation for time await is almost as distasteful as weight watching. There’s things I just have to do before taking any vacation, even a short one. How much organization is too much?

I finished waxing the wood floor on my hands and knees this morning. If I accidentally die while I’m away for two days, I wouldn’t want anyone to know that my floors aren’t this clean and shiny every day. I balanced the checkbooks to make it easier on any survivors. I weeded the garden so that any neighbors don’t get the impression I’m putting pleasure before business. And I’m almost done labeling the cans containing left over paint with the corresponding rooms. Just in case there’s a break-in and the would-be felon has a fetish to cover up any fingerprints besides his own. Even though I’m leaving my husband home, the A-type personality home invader required for the touch-up work won’t find any opposition. Most likely my husband won’t leave the bedroom now that he’s retired, has big screen TV next to his recliner, can turn the volume up (he insists he’s not hard of hearing) and has found the pleasure of pajamas.

Let’s see. I’ll be gone for two days. I’ve packed two bathing suits. One for daylight and another one for nighttime.  The second one is faded and stretched out, but more comfortable. I’ve packaged a slew of treats, like chips, cookies and French toast fixings to make up for all the starving I did last week. I’ve thrown in four cute outfits, maybe five, and matching sandles. I’ve stuffed a blow dryer, a curling iron, day make-up, removal cosmetics, night goop, and warm flannel pajamas into one large suitcase. I’m taking my most comfortable underwear. The ear plugs get to staying home. I’m playing it dangerous and not taking my retainer or dental floss.

I’m ready to go. I just can’t figure out who will lift my bag up the stairs.