Packing
is a fine art but also a gift that some people just seem to
'have'. I possess neither.
When
it comes to tackling packing, I have a long way to go. I don’t
mean that my destination is distant. I mean that my skill set is
lacking in this department.
I
have read countless articles on the subject. The pros and cons of
folding vs. rolling. How to prepare for any sort of weather or social
occasion. I even read a piece describing a handy dandy equation to
calculate the number of outfits you could conjure up by multiplying
your ‘tops’ by your ‘bottoms’. It seems
there’s a lot to unpack about packing. And, in my case, there
is often a lot to repack as well.
As
far as I can tell, all the sage advice and arithmetic concerning
optimal packing hinges on having clothes in more or less harmonious
hues. Now I am fond of all my clothes and choose them like a teenage
crush. I fall head-over-heels for each one, but it doesn’t
seem that they care much for one another. Nevertheless, I
optimistically fling them all together in a suitcase and hope that
they will negotiate some sort of truce en route. So far, the peace
process isn’t going all that well.
My
husband, in contrast, is the James Bond of packing. From a bag the
size of a shoebox, he is able to produce an array of elegant outfits
worthy of a French fashion show. Not only does he always look dapper,
but he is also prepared to summit the Matterhorn or dive a sunken
wreck. His bags may be shaken, but their contents are never stirred.
He looks freshly pressed and ready for adventure the minute he
arrives.
I,
on the other hand, am completely disheveled and discombobulated. I
usually look like I have slept fitfully in my clothes. All
of
them. Not a single piece survives transit without notable kinks and
creases. I have tried on some ‘wrinkle-resistant’
garments, but the fabric feels as though it is trying to slip off me,
like a snake shedding its skin. Neither comfortable nor
confidence-inspiring.
So,
when we travel together, I resemble a tossed salad: multi-colored,
slightly shredded, and all jumbled up. My husband is more like a
sleek sushi-sashimi plate. Everything is fresh and neat and looks
like a work of art.
Luckily
for me, he doesn’t seem to mind traveling with what could be
mistaken for an out-of-work scarecrow. And we enjoy our trips
regardless of our attire. That being said, he offers to buy me ‘a
nice outfit’ just about everywhere that we go. So, maybe one
day, I’ll find that magical item to unify my motley wardrobe,
and I will finally crack this packing thing.
Even
though she is a poor packer, PK Robbins Walzer enjoys travel
with her ever dapper and dashing husband. Together, they've driven
through deserts, walked on walls, and gazed at gorillas. More
adventures always await.
