[The setting: Wilmington, NC. The couple has already done grocery shopping for the day’s relocation to an Airbnb, from this hotel: they’ve picked up milk and creamer, and kept it in the refrigerator overnight; ditto bottles of water and soda, a small bottle of vinegar to be used for mysterious laundry purposes (Hers), and so on. He has already filled His insulated water bottle, the previous night, and as they prepare to move their luggage down to the lobby He takes a first generous swig from it.]

He: Gaaaaaah! What the living hell did I just drink a mouthful of?!?

[He opens the water bottle, takes a whiff, gags and sputters. He checks the refrigerated plastic bottle from which He filled His own metal one.]

He: Jeezus Chr—! Why the hell was the bottle of vinegar in the refrigerator?!?

[He rushes to the bathroom sink, metal water bottle in hand. He dumps its remaining contents into the sink, continues coughing and retching, washing His mouth out with tap water.]

She (from other room): What are you doing?!?

He (spitting and coughing): I’m dumping the rest of this sh!t into the sink!

She: You’re dumping out all that vinegar? I need that vinegar for washing my clothes!

[He stares at His reflection in the bathroom mirror. His eyes are tearing and bloodshot. His tongue feels corrugated. His throat burns like that time when He was a kid and clumsily tried siphoning gasoline from a canister for use in a go-cart, and the fuel ran down His esophagus.]

He: I just drank vinegar, and laundry is what you’re worried about?!?

She (calling out his name): You don’t understand! I needed that vinegar for my clothes! And that little bottle was the perfect size for a trip — I’ve never seen vinegar in such a small bottle! Now we have to go back to that store for more!

[He fumbles about for a breath strip, for a second and a third breath strip. He swallows, downs a fourth breath strip. His forehead is beaded with sweat. His eyebrows will probably return to their normal altitude by evening. His throat will burn for a couple days, and He will be awash for that long in inescapable olfactory memories of dyeing Easter eggs.]

He (weakly): Okay, okay… Let me go down to the lobby for a luggage cart. Then I’ll get the car, and then we can go the store for more vinegar and then we can do whatever until it’s time to check in at the Airbnb.

She: I just really can’t believe you drank my vinegar! Jeezus!

While The Missus was out yesterday afternoon, I took advantage of the absence of distraction (ha) to do my final-cut packing of clothes. Objective: aim to take no more than one large hardsided suitcase (with the zippered expandable option) and one good sized backpack. (Camera gear is already stowed separately.)

I think I can still get there, although I think the backpack may be too ambitious. Instead, at the moment I’ve got it down to the big suitcase, the smaller version of the same thing, and a small tote.

The basic problem: failing to make really hard choices, even allowing for the six-month cross-country climate. I made much of my original intentions: I figured I’d be able to get by on a couple pairs of jeans and a decent pair of slacks; maybe three pairs of socks; four sets of underwear; a couple T-shirts; two-three long-sleeved T-shirts — like that. And two pairs of shoes. My thinking has been that it’s no problem to look — especially to strangers — as though you’re decently dressed, even for two or three days running; you just have to do some judicious juggling of wardrobe, wearing everything a couple-three times, in different mix-and-match combinations, between laundry cycles. (Pandemic lesson #1!)

Surprise, surprise: it seems I have grown much more fond of a variety of clothing than I ever thought possible.

So at the moment I’ve got four pairs of jeans (Jeans, for gods’ sake!) Also four pairs of shoes,. The socks-and-underwear situation: ridiculous. Shirts and T-shirts are the worst offenders, through no fault of their own: “How can I leave THIS one unworn for six months to a year? And, oh, wait, THIS T-shirt and THIS overshirt look just right together…!”

It really is like the title of this post says — I’ve got to make myself think in terms of the emergency cliche: “The air-raid sirens are warbling. What must you absolutely grab before running out the door?” At least I have the luxury of stopping to select items only by considering their versatility, and just letting the rest go to storage.

And now, of course, the situation grows desperate, because there’s so much stuff still to do other than Taking Care of My Wardrobe.

P.S. Remind me to tell you about the time I wasted yesterday simply getting a couple of duplicate keys made. And I did manage to (a) get boxes for a big-screen TV and a medium-sized one, and (b) drop off a couple bags of Goodwill donations, while failing to take care of the key situation. So, not a total loss.

…or first ones, I guess. Depends on how you look at the next two weeks.

The lease on our apartment is up at the end of the month, so — like it or not — by July 1 we won’t have a place to live. In the meantime, I hope to start posting updates here; these probably will not be daily, and probably not very long, but I thought it’d be more convenient (for you and me) to do it this way than by cramming a gigantic email update into everyone’s Inboxes.

One other note: I can’t make any promises (So what else is new?, you ask), but I hope that Toni will occasionally drop her own notes here, too. Odds are very very very good that our impressions of everything — road trips in general, this road trip in particular, points of interest, and so on — our impressions will differ quite a bit. I’d hate to bear the responsibility for representing her side fairly!