Packing is Such Sweet Sorrow
(Hey, firedogs. Christy needed a bit of time away from the computer, so I am here to bring you a special afternoon post. Enjoy!)
Okay, so. How exactly does one dress to be a campaign volunteer? Should I pack a lot of dress shirts and ties? Or clothes for walking long distances in hot weather? Does it cool off at night? Will I need a jacket? Am I going to need a separate suitcase for shoes? Well, actually, I might.
I tried standing in front of the open closet with a divining rod. That hasn’t worked out particularly well. My divining rod appears to think that it’s 1998 and I’m going to be going to a five-day rave. I seriously doubt I am going to need that shiny shirt. In fact, why do I even have that?
Oh, my clothes! When did there get to be so many of you? And how come so many of you don’t get along with each other?
Next I tried explaining things to them. I laid a tuxedo, a bathing suit, and a pair of plaid punk-rock bondage pants out on the bed.
"I can’t take you all," I said, "But that doesn’t mean I love you any less."
Silence. Great. Now they’re all offended.
Maybe I should just do what I usually do and wait until the very last possible minute and then just dump everything willy-nilly out of the chest of drawers and into multiple bags, hastily zip them shut and run like hell and just hope for the best. Of course, I could regret that when I have 11 pairs of boxers and no pants.
And what should I iron first, if anything? It’s all too bewildering! 60 million year old carnivores shouldn’t have to make these kinds of decisions.
Does this shirt make my forelimbs look even tinier? Does my tail look fat in these jeans?
Hooboy. This might take a while.
Any tips you former campaign folks can share with me? I’m kind of at a loss, here.