Fashion Writing Has Ruined My Life (or at least my packing)
The worst packing job I ever saw was my brother’s, when he managed to get in the car with one shoe but not the other. He rode one-shoed (or at least got out at rest stops one-shoed) the whole way back from college to our parent’s home.
I suppose technically speaking it afforded more protection than no shoes would have, but it’s a lot easier to understand forgetting both shoes. At the point where you have one on your foot you sort of expect it to remind you, one thing leading naturally to another, about the other one.
But I shouldn’t make fun, because I always err in the other direction. For example, I’m writing this instead of packing (less than six hours before I have to get up and get in the car), and so far I’ve planned at least five outfits for a 48-hour trip:
- Something comfortable to drive in
- Something to bike six or seven miles of Chicago streets in
- Something that can be carried on said bike ride to be worn at a Cubs game
- Something suitable for the theater to change into after the Cubs game
- Comfortable work clothes for packing a car in
- A golfing outfit
- Comfortable driving clothes again
A lot of these will involve some creative overlapping. I’ve got a pair of good camping pants, for example, that should serve equally well for driving (both ways) and for loading the car up, and possibly for riding to Wrigley Field and watching the Cubs game in as well.
But it’s still rather an absurd amount of planning for two days. Fashion writing does it to you; there just comes a point where you can’t wear tennis shoes anywhere but on an actual tennis court anymore.
Ah well. Now I just have to make sure I pack everything in the black backpack with both straps still working, rather than the black backpack with the broken strap.
The one with the broken strap is where I keep all my sex toys.