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 clothes four days in a row, I blame lost luggage. My hair is a mess from the underpowered blow dryer in the hotel room. My other shoe was confiscated by TSA officials in Memphis. Thank goodness there's no photographic record of all my mistakes because I always forget the camera.

But for the trip I am currently preparing for, it might not be so easy to get away with. I will be surrounded by mothers who are experts in preparedness--at the airport they'll whip out some worksheets from their emergency math kit strapped to their thighs so their children won't be bored at the gate. I'll have to dig around my purse for a stick of Dentyne and a penny and hope my kids will be amused with short division.

Eyeing my torn Publix bag that I fashion as a carry-on, a kindly woman will take pity and give my kids copies of those worksheets. She might even offer some of the other articles I've forgotten to pack like toothpaste, the airline tickets and sunscreen as she reaches into her airline-approved luggage lined with zipper bags of individual outfits labeled for every day and hand me a bottle of Coppertone with a smile and say, "In case you've forgotten yours, I have extra."

I'll feign a polite protest and lie and say I've got five bottles packed in my checked bags.

She'll say, "Really, it's not a problem. You don't look like you tan well."

©2010 Tracey Henry

Divamail Me!