I managed to almost pack for Bouchercon today. There were a few impediments.
One of them was external:
The other was my usual habit of packing for every possible contingency. Normally, I use a suitcase that would comfortably sleep a family of four—but it was stored under a basement window that leaked unnoticed until my husband figured out that the canvas shouldn’t be that shade of green.
Because he is my hero, he offered his own folding case, which, as you can see above, comfortably sleeps a cat of one.
I was literally surrounded by laundry, fighting the fact that I wouldn’t be able to take all of it with me this time,* when my friend Grace arrived.
Grace, bless her, is a world traveler who knows how I get. She explained that I only needed to pack for five days, and that I didn’t need four pairs of slacks and five pairs of pedal pushers, ten tops from tees to formal, and all my shoes. She also explained at one point that St. Louis has grocery stores—or maybe that was Mom.**
And she wrapped my charger cords to factory standard for me, too—it’s one of her many superpowers.
So I’m all packed, except for one more small load of laundry, because I figured out an hour ago that I was wearing the outfit I actually want to wear during the drive, and all of my toiletry stuff.
Oh, and I finally picked out a toenail color for the occasion.***
So, despite everything, I appear to be set.
Maybe.
About those shoes . . .
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*At my last Iowa Summer Writing Festival, I managed to tote along my printer in theat suitcase—and it did come in useful, thank you very much—and at the last ALA convention, I was Swag Queen.
**Me: “But I guess I still have this worry that the other kids will think I’m weird and funny-looking and no one will play with me.”
Mom: “Oh, honey, I’m sure there will be plenty of other weird, funny-looking kids there.”
Me: ” . . . Um, Mom? Did you just call me weird and funny-looking? Because I’m pretty sure mothers aren’t supposed to say that out loud, even if their kid hasn’t been in elementary school since 1981.”
Mom: “Hmmm? Oh, sorry. I’m out of practice.”
***Because I may very well be the weird, funny-looking kid at Bouchercon, but I still gotta be me.
Earful of Cider 