We finished packing the moving truck on Tuesday with the help of some strong and handsome friends. I'm lucky to be surrounded by such nice and good-looking people, particularly ones with excellent spatial reasoning skills. You guys know who you are.
Wednesday morning I packed up the Jeep with the essentials that I would be taking South. A suitcase of clothes, my KitchenAid mixer of which I am overly protective, my jasmines and lavenders, Pup and her accoutrement, and my backpack stuffed with the laptops, my stats book, surgery reference books, and cell phone charger. I was prepared.
Except DH had forgotten to pack a few things.
Thus I added two coolers, a Rubbermaid container, a pair of antlers, a set of downhill skis, a broom, and a tree stand to the interior. I strapped the kayak to the roof. I tossed the cable box we had to return, the non-functioning laptop we had to recycle, and the library books we had to donate into the passenger seat. I was prepared.
Except Pup and I had nowhere to sit.
So I rearranged the plants, tucked her bed on top of the pile of electronics in the passenger seat, and put my lavender in my lap. She could barely fit, but we were just going 30 minutes away. I knew I would be able to move things into the Jetta for the trip to DH's parents. We would be fine.
Except we got stuck in construction on the interstate.
I was hot, I was sore, and I was wearing the same grimy clothes I had been the day before because of a packing error on my part. I had just scrubbed the entire apartment. I hadn't eaten yet. I was gross and cranky, y'all. I just wanted to get to our friends' house, shower, and change.
One of the boxes kept shifting when we went around corners causing it to bang into the window switches. This meant that at various times the windows would roll down, and I couldn't get my hand under the box to roll them back up immediately. Annoying, but not that big of a deal. I had one last glass of sweet tea that I had squished into the cup holder. It was the only thing holding me together - the thought of how wonderful that cold sweet liquid was going to be when we got to K. and J.'s house.
Except someone had fed Pup pizza and ribs the night before.
She chose the moment when we were stuck in construction and the back window was rolling down on its own to stand up on her little bed, look at me, and throw up.
Everywhere. In the cable box. On my plants. On her bed. On the gear shift. And in my last glass of tea.
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