Otto and I are departing for Boston this morning, to begin the wild extravaganza known as A Family Wedding. (Having recently married, myself, in the most low-key of arrangements, I must say that watching my brother-in-law and his future wife navigate these treacherous waters has prompted a sympathetic “HAHA!” from me several times, already.)
Anyway, it’s the usual flurry of arrangements happening here, and I just have a few brief notes I believe need to be shared before we go. After this, I have to go finish packing and strategically place something like my expensive hair serum somewhere so that I will ABSOLUTELY REMEMBER TO PACK IT and then leave it behind so that I can spend the entire weekend berating myself for forgetting to pack the one thing I was most worried about packing. Also, there aren’t any stores in Boston, so it will be a MAJOR IRREPARABLE TRAGEDY when this happens.
I am a REAL JOY to travel with, by the way. I can see that you’re shocked.
While my usual beef with you is limited to the whole gender thing at the highest level—because, really, do men feel more manly with silver razors while we silly little females require pink ones?—today I have a different issue. I don’t go through razors all that quickly, Bic. I will buy a package and use each one until I realize that the hair is being PULLED out rather than cut. So honestly, I don’t have much brand loyalty. I think it was back before Christmas when I last purchased a package of Bic Soleil razors, and my guess is that they were on sale. Sure, they’re “girly” razors, but I was glad for their cheerful red and orange colors rather than Pepto pink. And they worked just fine.
Yesterday I realized I was out of functional razors, and so while on a run to the store I picked up the Bic Soleil Pivot razors because they were on sale and I figured they were just the next iteration of the razors I’d been using these last months.
Bic, I did not read the fine print, so I take the blame. HOWEVER, here is what NO ONE should EVER be putting in the fine print on a package of razors: “Citrus scented handles.”
Seriously, Bic. What the hell? Who was your product tester for this—Strawberry Shortcake? Since when do I need shaving to be a scratch and sniff experience? I am hugely perturbed that instead of engineering a razor that doesn’t cut my kneecaps all to shit, you’re busy making the handle smell like lemons. Not cool, Bic. Not. Cool.
Dear Push-Up Bra,
Thank you for your many years of service, including waiting patiently for me in the bottom of the drawer all this time. When I was packing last night and remembered that I might like to have actual boobs at the wedding, it was very satisfying to find you there, ready to go. You’re swell. (Get it? Get it??)
Dear cute little tree frogs,
Look, I know we’ve had this conversation before, but I’m about to go out of town and so I think it’s important that we go over this, again. Down that way is the pond. You’ll recognize it because it’s large and wet and full of life-giving mud and algae. Up HERE is our pool, which you’ll recognize because of your magnetic attraction to it despite the fact that chlorine is not your friend. You KNOW that if I was here I would continue my early morning rescue missions to fish you out, but I’m not going to be around with your favorite friend the skimmer. And I really just want you to be safe in my absence.
Also, I really don’t want to come home to a filter basket full of suicidal amphibians, because that’s a bad way to end a vacation. Just sayin’.
Play safe out there,
Dear tomato plants,
You are pretty. I love you. Please don’t die while I’m gone. I promise to water you first thing when I get back.
Dear maple flooring,
Thank you so much for waiting patiently this last month. Although we have enjoyed your tenure as a stack of boxes behind the front door, I believe our relationship can only be enriched by your new position as actual flooring, you know, ON THE FLOOR. I trust you will have no difficulties with the transition and look forward with great anticipation to seeing you in your new role when we return.
As for me, I have started a twelve-step plan to face my addiction to placing my water glass on the floor next to the couch while I’m watching television. The first step is admitting that I am powerless against my propensity to knock over said glass, and I feel that things are going well and I will soon be ready to work with you without a roll of paper towels and a string of curse words.
Soon we shall both be living up to our full potential. I see sock-skating in our future.
Dear contractors who will be installing the flooring,
I know that we will be out of town, and that you know that we will be out of town. Still, this is our home and we trust that you will respect that even in our absence. Thankfully, I feel confident that we won’t have a repeat of the no toilet paper debacle because I have stocked the bathroom well, but listen to me closely: The bathroom here in the office? The only one without a bunch of furniture blocking the door? THAT’S FOR YOU. It’s not an accident that our entertainment center is blocking the master bathrooms, nor was it an oversight that the upstairs bathroom is closed. THIS BATHROOM is the only one I want you to use. Please.
Also, if you so much as ding the dining room walls I will kill you all. Slowly and painfully. And I am not even kidding.
Okay, then! Have a great week!
I’ll just leave my checkbook on the counter,
Please don’t lose my suitcase. My boobs are in there.