A friend rings your doorbell way too early in the morning to be ringing doorbells. You answer the door in your PJs, and the friend says, “Pack a bag quickly. I have to get out of here now and need you to come with me.” You are intrigued.
I grabbed her arm and pulled her inside.
“Ten minutes,” I said, both of us knowing I would take twenty. I stood in the middle of the living room for a moment, my body trying to move in three directions at once as my brain moved in twelve. Finally they both settled on one at the same time and I ran up the stairs, two at a time.
Fortunately I hadn’t put away my travel bags from my weekend trip to the islands so there was no having to dig them back out of the closet. Unfortunately, I also had not yet done laundry. I pulled my drawers open and stared at their contents, stumped.
“Okay, Micky,” I called down the stairs. “I need input. What am I packing?”
“Warm weather, um… four days?” She paused a moment, then added, “We can do laundry there.”
I grabbed a handful of underwear, three summer shirts, a pair of shorts, and one sweater – just in case. Then I shuffled out of my PJs and stuffed those in as well. Half of what I put in was dirty but the promise of laundry invigorated me to take my favorite shirt from the hamper.
I hesitated beside the bed for a moment before I grabbed my teddy bear and stuffed him in as well. Never know when you might need the moral support.
Back in the living room, I left my bag on the couch as I counted off my fingers of what needed to be done.
“Feed the cats, grab toothbrush and makeup, call my mother- once we’re gone,” I added as she made to object. I looked around again for anything I might be overlooking.
“What about food?” I asked.
“What about clothes?”
I pointed to the bag; she pointed to me. I looked down.
“Oh, that. Yeah, I mean, I suppose I could get dressed,” I said nonchalantly.
“Well hurry,” she said, barely concealing her laughter. “It’s been ten minutes already!”
“Alright, alright! You get the cooler from the back porch and raid the fridge, I’ll be back down in a minute.”
Armed at last with pants and a proper shirt, I grabbed my purse, shoved a camera into the side-pocket of my travel bag, decided there was nothing to be done about my hair anyway and conceded I was done. We loaded my things into the trunk beside hers and then got in.
“This is what I love about you, Liz,” she said as she put the car in gear and pulled out of the driveway.
“You never ask.”