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Day 1

I slept, at most, one hour. I repacked my suitcase three times, doing my best to be a hip minimalist. I was so pleased with myself when I unrolled five dresses and hung them back up in my closet, leaving me with one black maxi that converts into a skirt. We were only going to be gone one week. What was I thinking? Who in the world would need six dresses? 

     Next to go was a pair of black heeled sandals and one pair of navy spikes. The navy sundress was out, so I was sure I could get along with the camel leather flippies, a pair of low-heeled tan ankle straps, copper platforms and my Sketchers. I would wear my Converse on the plane. Do beach flipflops count? They’re not really shoes. If not, that would be five pairs of shoes, if so, six. Hmmm. 

     I had tried on my straightleg white jeans, and they were tossed back up to the high closet shelf. Too tight. But now I thought I’d give them another try. They would definitely be easier to pack than the wide legs. I pulled them on, tugging and stretching out the thighs as I went. Out with the wide legs. That would save space and a few ounces. Down to two pairs of jeans–the white, one blue–not counting the black stretch pair I’d wear on the plane, or the soft black cargos for the beach. So..I guess that really is four pairs of pants…on to the shorts. 

     Jean shorts, white shorts, running shorts. A white, a blue and a black bikini. Out went three black tops and a black sweater. Who needs a sweater in Mexico? T- shirts are small, I’m not going to be anal about this. Same rule applies to the sleeveless. Two pairs of Capri leggings, 2 sports tops. One grey lightweight hoodie. I’d wear the the heavier hoodie and my jean jacket. Wear the chunky copper colored scarf and throw in the favorite tan and white striped or I’d regret it. Underwear, socks, tan belt, wear the black belt, wear the tan sunglasses, pack the black Ray Bans. 

     Onto the books and writing materials, fill the assortment of mini bottles and jars, and sort the vitamins into the categories by day. I’m a homebody by nature. If I could pack the pets and pictures, I would.

     I guess I’ll never be a minimalist but I had reduced and reorganized my bag, so I crawled back into bed, being careful not to wake Todd, and closed my eyes for the next three hours, without sleep. He brought me coffee at 4:20am and I proudly shared my news that I was down to one dress. 

     “One dress!” he said. “You can’t wear the same dress every day! Mix it up.” Back in went the blue dress and the spike heels along with a black and white sundress, and at the last second, a black stretchy skirt. 

     The bag weighed in at 40.2 lbs. reducing my usual weight by 12.8. I was pleased.

     Check-in was a breeze, and our Norwegian Airlines flight was already boarded,  35 minutes ahead of schedule. They were looking for the Farrises. Todd had stopped at the loo so the attendant got started on my passport while everyone waited for us. The Norwegians are so friendly. The attendant smiled back, handing me my boarding pass as I quickly texted our housesitter to be sure to fill Sam and Mary’s bowls with fresh water. They both had extra treats before we left and would be extra thirsty. Then Todd was there and within seconds they sent us through the airport door. 

“Where’s my passport?” I stopped and turned back to ask the attendants? They looked at each other and the smiling one said, “I gave it to you.”

     I had no recollection of that as I stopped several feet into the tramway, kneeling down on the floor, and began opening my bags and all the zipper compartments anyone with common sense would have zipped a passport into. I searched through my entire computer bag and carry on. “I can’t find it. It’s not here!” I felt lightheaded and looked at Todd like he would know where it was.      

     “Take your time, dear. I get nervous when I fly too.”

       I’m not nervous. “It’s not here!” I said really nervously. 

     “He’s got it,” I heard one of the attendants say at the door. Who? I crained my neck. Ouch. 

     “It was under her chair,” the man said crossing the waiting area with my passport in his hand. He handed it to the flight attendant. 

     “Here you go dear,” she said. “Good thing you looked for it.”

     “Thank you!” Oh my gosh! What if…? I looked at Todd who was calmly observing all this. 

     “Did I give you my passport?” he asked as we walked down the ramp. 


     “I’m sure I have it,” he said all self assured. He’s always so calm. “I’ll look for it on the plane.” I stared at him. “I just had it,” he nodded at me. 

     We settled into our exit row seats to accommodate my claustrophobia. “Are you sure I didn’t give you my passport?” Todd asked me again ruffling through his briefcase. 

     “Yes!” I snapped, way over reacting. 
His face flushed with emotion.

     “You’re doing it again. Be nice.” He turned away, clearly affected by my tense, nervous, over reactive, if not rude, tone. 

     This is not the way I want to start a vacation. I turned to look out the window, beyond the wing to the blue sky and bed of clouds hovering beneath us, chastised myself then took in a breath. I pulled my bag up onto my lap to prove I didn’t have his passport. “I’m sorry.” I said, still scattered… “It’s just that, I just lost my passport. And you need to find yours.” I unzipped my purse and both of us saw the two passports at the same time. “Here it is…sweetheart…” I said in an unusually high register, handing it to him. “I love you…”

     Todd is not one to hold a grudge like “some ” people I know. Note to self: Continue to work on lightening up on all fronts.  

     Yay! Vacation! Next stop, Ixtapa. 

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