I hate packing. After years of travelling, it got easier and I learned to travel light but still, I hate it. Not to mention unpacking whose thought starts to upset me since the moment I am start packing because apparently everything I am stuffing in my suitcase, and not without effort, it will have to be taken out and store away; maybe even washed and ironed. It is a bit like the Christmas decoration: We all love them; we all are excited putting them on, but the only thought of when we will have to take them down would be enough to make us ran and forget about them.
There was a time when packing was not only an unpleasant activity but also the fount of an awful dose of stress. I never knew what to bring or what to leave. It took me ages to chose my outfits.A desperate volume of clothes were going in and out of the wardrobe and in and out of the suitcase multiple times. As a result, I ended up packing too much or too less. Thankfully now I developed a precise technique and I don’t get stressed over packing anymore but it still feel it is a time consuming despicable thing to do.Unpacking too!
I suppose I should have gotten used to pack and unpack, as aside from my little trips I pack and unpack my husband at least once a week. Yes,” the travelling husband” doesn’t do or undo his bag! Instead I just got fed up with it.Fed up but with some expertise that at least accelerate the procedure.In total honesty, I don’t think I can take all the credit for my advanced packing skills, but I must admit that for sure the airline’s security procedures after 9/11 helped. You basically can’t bring anything with you anymore, and that little that you can still bring it must be carried discretely and occupying the smallest space possible.Years and years of this and I became a suitcases engineer.
At around 9.30 pm the bags are done. We are packed. The girls’ luggage was easily and quickly sorted. They will be in Italy for the rest of the summer and I simply threw in their bags whatever clothes they own that has the word “short” in their names: short sleeves t-shirts and shorts, plus swimming togs. My bag required a bit more time because I am staying only a few days now, but I will be back for three weeks, so it makes sense to bring clothes to leave for later but,as myself and the husband are also going away on our own in the meanwhile, I need to keep in Ireland some of my nice summer clothes.It was a bit of an hassle to pick what to bring or leave but at the end I made it.
I eventually crashed on the couch to watch some tv. After one hour of zapping between Friday night realities, docudramas about the murder next door and old episodes of Dynasty I gave up and decided to go to bed.
I had to carry up the stairs my iPad and my phone, in case the travelling husband rings, the laundrette shirts still in the hall forgotten from this morning and a glass of water. Already full hands I realised I left my rings and my watch on the desk in the study, will I come back to get them? Nahhh, I can carry them too! I slide the iPad and phone under my armpit so to have a free hand to scoop them up. I made it upstairs with no accidents except some spilled water along the stairs,but that is ok.I throw whatever I am holding in my hands and underarm on the bed, except the glass of water of course. I put away the shirts and I go to kiss the girls goodnight.
Back in my bedroom, I move the phone and Ipad to the bedside table and the rings to the jewellery box, but then it is when I notice there is one ring missing. Impossible, it was on the desk with the others. I took it upstairs I’m sure, it was in my hand.It must have been fallen under the cover: Nop; Under the bed then: Nop; On the stairs coming up, I mean where else: Nop. At this point, the only explanation is that it fell in the study somewhere. It has not! I looked for the bloody ring for an hour.I looked everywhere: it merely vanished! I found mismatched earrings I lost months earlier, a bracelet I didn’t even remember to have but no trace of the ring: my mother ‘s diamond ring.She gave it to me when daughter number one was born, and I always wear it. Panic starts to rise: me not wearing it will be the first thing she will notice and considering my history of losing jewellery it won’t be a pleasure to listen to her. Plus, she will never believe it is not lost, but it is in the house somewhere. I can’t sleep, and at 1.30am, when the travelling husband comes back from his business trip, I am still awake. I told him what happened and he says not to worry, we will find it…….One day or another but in the meanwhile, he suggests me not to wear any ring and blame it on swelling fingers. “Oh,By the way love, if you are thinking to write a post about it,make sure you block your mother out of the blog first”,he kissed me switched the lamp off and in a nanosecond is snoring….I am still wide awake looking at my bare fingers.
