The two days prior to leaving for Florida were spent in a whirlwind of sweeping, mopping, scrubbing, and laundering anything I could get my hands on in our house. Is this a woman thing? Seriously? I’m just wondering here if this is one of those things that really does, for the most part, fall along the gender lines. Of the three women who traveled together– none of us related by blood– all of us cleaned our houses like mad, making sure that everything was as perfect as we could possibly get it before we would even think about hitting the road. Of the three men– all of whom were related by blood–this was mystifying behavior. My neighbor-friend says that she cleans up before they leave, too. Who wants to come home to a messy house after a long day of travel? No one wants to have to mop the floors and do all that laundry from the trip at the end of it all, so we clean.
This year, though, I made a mistake. And it was a mistake that did end up making a difference, albeit not one of epic proportions–merely one of irritating
inconvenience. Usually before a big trip, I do all of the packing before I go to bed, and then I get up and do those last-minute things that have to wait until morning– you know, the toothbrush and shampoo, breakfast dishes and kitty litter things. Ugh– did I really just type breakfast dishes and kitty litter together? Lovely mental image, that. Life is rarely, if ever, pretty or palatable. So this mistake, right? Well, this year, I didn’t pack before bed. I ran around like a mad woman all Thursday long, sweeping, scrubbing, laundering (I like that word), and fretting until I couldn’t stand up straight anymore.
Then I said it.
“I’m going to bed to read. I’ll finish this in the morning.”
No good ever came from the statement, I’ll finish it in the morning. At least no good in my procrastinative (oh, hush, Mr. Spell-Check) state of life.
I took a shower, put on my jammies, brushed my teeth, and climbed into bed to read. And when I woke up at 3:30 in the morning, I told myself– You’re mostly done. It’ll keep a while longer. Go back to bed. And so I did, which is how I found myself cursing up a storm three hours later as I tried to desperately finish
everything that I didn’t do the night before. As I said before, the most important thing that I didn’t do was to pack. B did, though. However, while he was doing all the packing, every single time he turned his back, the Girl was doing all of the UNpacking.
Me– no pajamas. B– no belt, which meant the pairs of slacks and jeans he brought were useless– well, unless he wanted to moon everyone– but that isn’t as appealing at 37 as it was at, say, 17. And Boy? Poor Boy. He ended up with only one and a half pairs of socks. The only one of us left unscathed was the Girl.
I think she planned it that way.