Method to my madness

I’ll make the same deal with you all that I made with my son. After making a simple confession, one that brought taunts and derision, from not only my husband and daughter, but also my own mother, you will have one chance to mock me, then we will never speak of it again.

The trip I’m taking this weekend? I was packed early this morning. Today is Tuesday, I leave late Thursday morning.

To a word, when The Mister and College Kid learned of my premature luggage stuffing, they both asked, “you do know what day it is, right?”

My mother laughed uncomfortably, tsked, then quickly changed the subject. She likes to avoid conflict.

I do have a method to my madness. I now know what clothing and shoes I plan to wear, toiletries are in their own small bag, my camera and paraphernalia are stowed in its backpack, and my shoulder bag is culled of TSA verboten items. I can now decide, well ahead of panic time, if I need to take anything else with me.

A collateral benefit of that is, if the menfolk wish to fete me for my birthday early (I’ll be traveling on my actual birthday), I won’t be frantically pinging through the house trying to gather my things and wondering where my brown mules are hiding.

If I had left all the packing to the last-minute, I wouldn’t be free to be wined and dined.

When my son saw my bags ready, he merely smiled and shook his head. He’s my favorite right now.