Ah, just how I like Palm Beach. I'm happily trading in the drizzle for some sizzle for a couple of days, heading to the track with a lineup of Mercedes AMGs. Of course that means the packing must begin, a true magic metric of careful selection to fit in one carry on.
It will come as a giant surprise that I am unorganized ::cough::. As I was doing laundry, I realized I wanted to pack the jeans I was wearing. So, I took them off and chucked them in the machine. This is not an uncommon thing to do, but then I must race back upstairs in my undies, hoping the boys don't see me. I yell 'close your eyes!' really loudly. If I don't and they spy me, they act like someone threw acid in their eyes. Sometimes I just yell 'close your eyes!' for no reason. After a few minutes, someone will ask if they can open them.
Whenever I chuck a suitcase on the bed, Maggie glares at me. Then she storms out of the room. Well, as much as 7 pounds of cat on 4 inch legs can storm. She hates me going. The boys surround me with love as well. Christopher will ask how early he has to get up to take me to the airport. Ari will ask how much money I'm leaving them. I can tell behind their words there is a real sense of loss there. JoJo leaves the room and forgets who I am. Hell, there are days I wake up and don't know where I am, making me wonder if aging is really just the onset of turning into JoJo.
I've been watching the news with all those people shopping. I hate shopping. I hate malls. I hate people who shop in malls. I cannot imagine elbowing someone in the neck to get a $4 sweater or $1.50 blow dryer or whatever the deals are. How much crap do we need? And everyone they interview says they're doing their Christmas shopping, which means they're buying you that crappy sweater. I worked retail for a lot of years. Every time there was a boxing day sale or a midnight madness or whatever, it was a chance for stores to put all the crap they had out front. You could slap a price tag on the Tupperware container someone left in the staff fridge, and someone would buy it.
Hey! Maybe I'll have a midnight garage sale! I have junk I don't want, don't recognize, and in some cases, I'm not even sure if it's mine. Details. A roll of masking tape, a darling little apron with cash pockets, and I'll be my own Midnight Madness, Home Edition.
You would think with the world economy in the toilet, people would be forgoing buying junk all together. I might suggest to my family that we have a Little House on the Prairie Christmas. When I was a kid reading those books, I used to be filled with awe at how creative they were: a penny, a scarf secretly knit all year, a small sachet of toenail clippings, and a rock in the shape of a stone. Those people really knew the meaning of Christmas.
Maybe I'll just go around wrapped random things up, like the Griswold Aunty on Christmas Vacation, and give one sister a salad spinner I never use, and the other one some packages of Swiss Chalet gravy. For the boys, I think I might itemize a list of how much they've cost me all year, then draw a line through the total and tell them their gift is writing off their maintenance.
Ari's already asked for some kind of warm pajamas. It's so he can remain in his basement mancave later into the season. I checked them online. They have a hood and a rear flap and are made of some fabulous warm material. If they had a built in microwave and a urine capsule, he'd never come upstairs.
Back to work.