I heard of a couple who thinks of vacation in three stages: anticipation, being there and cherishing memories.
On February 24 I received an email from Barbie, my sister, with the mysterious title “an offer.” It started with “Sugar Pea” and within the body was an offer indeed: she wanted to take me to the Dominican Republic the last week in June. She made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.
You can see why I had to say yes.
I leave at the crack of dawn tomorrow, and will be traveling incognito, as always.
Our other companions.
Now that it’s down to the wire, I have started my demented worrying. Yesterday I woke up and my little toe hurt: I was sure it would turn into gangrene and I couldn’t go. What if I wake up with an agonizing toothache on Sunday? What if I’m in a car wreck on the way to the airport? What if my dogs are kidnapped? This evening (Saturday), I couldn't reach my youngest at the pool, where she works: I immediately thought, "Shit - if she's been kidnapped, I can't leave tomorrow!"
My packing behavior is also the same: I’m going to pack light! But first I have to throw everything I own into my suitcase because you never know about freaky weather or the effects of eating and drinking heavily: sure, those pants look pretty good on me today, but how are they going to feel at the end of the week? Did I mention it’s an all-inclusive resort, which translates into “it’s okay to be a glutton because I paid good money for this!” Actually, I didn’t: my very generous sister is treating us to a week in paradise.