Hit the ground running
Day 1, Part 1.
Betsy and I wake up early to get a good start. We put all our stuff in the car – and it looks kind of full. But it’s not. Trust me.
After some coffee and eggs, we’re off, waving to Mom and Dad.
We’ve been to Liz’s house lots of times – but always from DC, never from PA, so we look at the directions and we’re a little confused as to which way we’re supposed to be going on 695. Until we realize that it’s a beltway, and that we just need to be directly across from where we are, so it DOESN’T MATTER. We stop worrying about it and groove to Missy.
About forty-five minutes in, Betsy asks if we can stop to pee. Her patented “Scale of pee” is invoked. It runs from 1 (I couldn’t pee if I tried) to 10 ( I’m peeing. Right now.) The cutoff for a long trip, by her own rule, is 8. So we don’t stop until we get to Liz’s. It's only another hour and a quarter.
Liz has, miraculously, packed pretty light. She’s got her big purse (which, shhh, is actually a diaper bag, but it makes such a great purse that who cares), and a small rolling suitcase. Oh, and two grocery bags of snacks. Amen.
We add these to a trunk that already contains a microwave, a lamp, a file box, Betsy’s rolling suitcase, my big backpack of extra clothes, my computer bag, and a mirror and framed picture for my house. The back seat holds a big-ass container full of my shit that didn’t get shipped, a box full of maps and important stuff like cell phone chargers, my camera and accessories, my overnight bag, a cooler, and a bunch of food. Plus Sir George, our mascot. (Posing, left, with Betsy.)
Somehow, Betsy and Liz cram it all it and make it all fit. And then comment on the fact that we'd have to do that every morning on the trip. And it might even get worse, if we were to accumulate souvenirs.
But no matter. We did it. We were in the car and ROLLING. And just like that, we were in Virginia.
Betsy and I wake up early to get a good start. We put all our stuff in the car – and it looks kind of full. But it’s not. Trust me.
After some coffee and eggs, we’re off, waving to Mom and Dad.
We’ve been to Liz’s house lots of times – but always from DC, never from PA, so we look at the directions and we’re a little confused as to which way we’re supposed to be going on 695. Until we realize that it’s a beltway, and that we just need to be directly across from where we are, so it DOESN’T MATTER. We stop worrying about it and groove to Missy.
About forty-five minutes in, Betsy asks if we can stop to pee. Her patented “Scale of pee” is invoked. It runs from 1 (I couldn’t pee if I tried) to 10 ( I’m peeing. Right now.) The cutoff for a long trip, by her own rule, is 8. So we don’t stop until we get to Liz’s. It's only another hour and a quarter.
Liz has, miraculously, packed pretty light. She’s got her big purse (which, shhh, is actually a diaper bag, but it makes such a great purse that who cares), and a small rolling suitcase. Oh, and two grocery bags of snacks. Amen.
We add these to a trunk that already contains a microwave, a lamp, a file box, Betsy’s rolling suitcase, my big backpack of extra clothes, my computer bag, and a mirror and framed picture for my house. The back seat holds a big-ass container full of my shit that didn’t get shipped, a box full of maps and important stuff like cell phone chargers, my camera and accessories, my overnight bag, a cooler, and a bunch of food. Plus Sir George, our mascot. (Posing, left, with Betsy.)
Somehow, Betsy and Liz cram it all it and make it all fit. And then comment on the fact that we'd have to do that every morning on the trip. And it might even get worse, if we were to accumulate souvenirs.
But no matter. We did it. We were in the car and ROLLING. And just like that, we were in Virginia.
posted by Amy at 9:18 PM
1 Comments:
i will absolutely be cribbing from your "scale of pee" system. fabulous.
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