There are things about myself that I wish just by saying out loud would be true. Like, "I tan well." Or, "I believe in aging gracefully." And of course, "I am a good packer."
In reality, I am not a good packer at all. In fact, next to the emergency services division at the Titanic, I may the worst in recorded travel history.
I seem to lack that certain mystical ability to propel my mind's eye to different geographical locations with varying temperatures from my own. If it’s seventy-two degrees inside my family room, well it must be sunny with a chance of ceiling fan wind all over the entire planet. Even if someone calls from another part of the country and declares "It's snowing here," I'll look out the window and tell them they're a dang liar.
You'd think that since I am aware of my shortcoming, that I would compensate by over-packing on any given trip. Not really. I've found that in order to fit the snowsuits and the socks for a ski vacation, then I have to abandon other unnecessary baggage like Q-Tips and my husband.
Usually, I can hide my epic failures pretty well. When I wear the same... Continue Reading >> | 
