Once every decade or so, Tom and I go on vacation. It is a very exciting time for us. We talk about the trip, the route, where we’ll stay, what we will do. It’s really a lot of fun.
There is only one fly in the sunscreen – Tom’s clothes, i.e. his pickiness and excessive packing.
Yes, the time grows nigh, and I am getting nervous. He doesn’t have everything he needs. And by “needs”, I’m talking three changes of wardrobe per day. The changes never happen, but he likes to be prepared in case the DuPonts have us over for lawn bowling.
Now, I would die for that man with no hesitation, so believe me when I say that I’m not JUST making fun of him, I’m also just telling you how it is.
Under the best of circumstances – and by that, I mean when I was prescribed Xanax – clothes shopping for him is one miserable experience. I can only say that it must be like shopping with one of the Kardashians. Or all of them.
This time, there’s added pressure because Tom has been really rocking it at the gym. Boyfriend is looking pretty damn fine, so his fashion bar has been considerably heightened.
Help me, Rhonda.
We made a preemptive strike at shopping last Sunday, and honestly? Victoria Beckham isn’t as exacting over a stripe width. Just waiting for him outside the fitting room is torture because I know that when he comes out, nothing will have pleased him. I think some nice bar set-ups outside of the fitting rooms at all department stores would be gold mines.
It was as painful as usual. We went in for a bathing suit, golf shorts, jeans, sneakers, and a couple of shirts. We left with a 3-pack of undies.
We are going to NC to see one of the people I love most in the world, my friend Pam, who recently moved down there with her boyfriend Bobby. He’s great, too, and we are really looking forward to it.
This time, I will take pictures and post them with my vacation report.
What do pictures have to do with anything? Absolutely nothing, but when you’re old and have your own blog, you can do whatever the hell you want.
Anyway, I am not a picture taker. I just don’t think of it unless there is a dog involved. Tom was scrolling the pix on my phone once and remarked that out of 300+ pictures, only two of them had people. And one of them was standing next to a dog.
So, I had gone to visit my friend in December. I went alone, and when I got back, the first thing Tom asked was to see the pictures. Oh. It is moments like these when I realize how truly odd I am.
Pam had just moved into a gorgeous home, and had done all these lovely renovations. On top of that, it was Christmas time and decorations made it look even prettier. Understandably, he was looking for pix of the new place. Plus, he wanted to get a general idea of what the area was like.
I had one picture, and that was of my friend holding, like, a 30-pound Whitman Sampler. Note: Box is larger than it appears.
Who does that?! Who is so strange that they go to a new place to see someone they are thrilled to see, who has a new home, in a new state, throws a party with friends and neighbors, has a beautiful, spacious yard – and the only time it occurs to me to take a snap is of her with a giant box of candy? Who?!
This time will be different. I will take tons of pix, some of which I will share. If I forget, I know Tom will pick up the slack. That is my pledge to you.