Weekend Escape and Forgotten Underwear

By Friday I was pretty well convinced my head was going to explode. Don’t get me wrong. I really enjoy selling Avon. And I’m now mentoring some new Avon sales reps…a task I enjoy almost more than selling it. But with an unemployed husband lurking about, the pressure to bring income into the house has created the kind of tension I prefer to experience only on the written page.

So the plan to head to our camp in Confluence took on a sense of urgency. Get out of my way; I’m going CAMPING.

However, first things first. I had to take my mom grocery shopping Friday morning. Along the way, I handed out Avon brochures and spoke to a couple of potential new sales reps. But once I’d emptied my purse of the brochures I always carry these days, I figured I was off the clock. The Avon hat came off and I dusted off the writer’s hat, which had a few cobwebs collecting on it.

As soon as I dropped Mom at her house and returned home, I tossed my groceries into the kitchen cabinets and refrigerator. Our duffle bags were already packed. My laptop and a hard copy of my manuscript were perched by the front door, ready to be loaded. I feared my phone would ring or something might happen to impede my escape.

In a few short minutes, we were ready. Hubby asked if I had everything. “Everything except the cat,” I replied. Skye happened to be missing. She’d seen all the activity and was hiding. While she enjoys camping, she’s less than fond of being packed into her carrier and strapped into the backseat for the two hour drive.

I checked all her usual hiding spots. No Skye. I checked all the spots where I would hide if I were a 10 pound feline. Nothing. I looked on top of things, under things, behind things. Nothing. That gnawing sensation in my gut, suggesting she may have slipped outside, began to threaten my get-away.

But then I spotted her. I have one of those little carpet-covered cat caves they sell in the pet shops. I’ve had it for years. NONE of my cats have ever used it. Instead, it sits in the corner of my bedroom and collects once-worn-but-not-quite-ready-for-the-laundry clothes. Only now, peering out from behind the leg of a pair of my jeans, was Skye. I tried to drag her out, but she must have blown herself up to fill up the entire inside of the thing. For a while there, I thought we might have to take the cat cave with us. But I finally extricated her from it and guided her into the carrier instead.

We were “on vacation.”

All was well until we arrived at camp and I began to unpack for the weekend. I filled the refrigerator and cabinets with our food. I pulled my manuscript and a couple of books out of one bag. I removed the fresh sheets for the bed from another. I emptied the duffle of Hubby’s clothes and placed them in the closet. But the other duffle bag was missing. I called out to Hubby to bring my bag in from the car. He responded that there weren’t any other bags.

Apparently the bag with my clothes had been left behind, either in the kitchen next to the door or in the bedroom on the bed. If it were the first, it was his fault. If it were the latter, it was mine. No use bickering about it. We were on vacation. No stress.

No clothes.

Well, I did have a couple of shirts and a spare pair of pants at camp. But as for underwear, socks, and pajamas, I was out of luck.

Time to take a bike ride into town to the Dollar General to spend money I was trying so hard to hoard for stuff I’d forgotten at home. Yes, I was pretty well convinced the duffle never made it out of the bedroom, meaning my lack of undies was my fault. Not that I’d admit it.

Fortunately, the dollar store had socks and underwear. No pj’s though. Instead, I bought a pair of scrubs. Beggars can’t be choosers.

I’d also forgotten Skye’s toy. Luckily a crumpled up piece of paper suits her play requirements just fine. She’s a writer’s cat, after all. Lots of crumpled up sheets of paper hit my office floor at home and she always enjoys beating the crap out of them for not containing perfectly worded prose.

Saturday, I was able to focus on what I DID remember to bring. Namely my manuscript and laptop. Hubby went turkey hunting, then fishing. I worked on revisions. My writer’s hat felt good. We both took a break for a bike ride. Wild flowers and spring fresh greenery edged the trails and cleansed my mind of all the stress that’s accumulated over the last few weeks. Months.

Sunday morning, the rain moved in. A barely noticeable drizzle built into a spring downpour. I worked on a column that’s only a week overdue (gotta love understanding editors). And I jumped back into revisions. While the bike riding suffered, the manuscript looks a heckuva lot better than it did a few days ago.

Now we’re home again. My duffle bag still sits in the bedroom, right where I left it, fully loaded with all the clothes I intended to wear. But on the bright side, I have some new underwear. And I shouldn’t need to buy socks for a while.