I arrive home from dinner at 10pm to find Chad in his favorite spot on the couch, surrounded by all the contents of our kitchen. Our kitchen is going to be re-done while we are gone, and therefore, we spent Wednesday night emptying all of our cabinets. Being slightly pre-occupied with our 3-week departure from the country, we neglected to get boxes, and instead resorted to stacking plates, pots, cleaning supplies and various other kitchen items on our coffee and kitchen tables, and the floor underneath them. It looks like a scene out of Hoarders, and I want to pull my hair and cry every second I realize that I live here.
“Yo honey, what’s in that suitcase?”, Chad begins, peering over a block of knives at my overflowing 26” suitcase.
I glance over at Chad’s neatly filled 22” suitcase. The fact that he has packed for 3 weeks and 3 climates in a suitcase that we use for weekend trips is outrageous to me.
“Chad, everyone goes on their honeymoon and looks like shiny new pennies, and we’re going to look like homeless people. CORRECTION: you are going to look like a homeless person. You are actually going to smell. How many shirts did you pack?”
I look over at Chad to see if I have sounded any alarms in his head.
“This is the best hour of television I have ever seen in my life”.
Based on the amount of television Chad watches, I am tempted not to believe this statement. The tears in his eyes, however, support his claim.
“4 Days in October. It’s about when the Red Sox came back to win…”
I decide that bedtime is the only place that I can safely go from here, and walk into the bathroom. I emerge to report to Chad that the 2oz tube of toothpaste he has set aside for our 3 week trip should work nicely with the 2 shirts that he has packed, and find him standing on a scale in his boxer shorts with his miniature suitcase in hand.
“My suitcase is 25 lbs. I’m taking bets for what yours is. We should call Jetstar tonight* with the weight. Zip up your suitcase, let’s weigh it”.
I pretend that zipping my suitcase is easy, and then do some more pretending as I wheel it over to the scale. I really want no part of this so I leave Chad, the bag, the pots and pans together and close the bedroom door.
“It broke the scale! The scale cannot register this weight!”
Having seen the biggest loser, I know this is indeed false, and that scales do in fact accept weights higher than 160lbs. We do some adjusting and conclude that I will have a mental breakdown if we continue with these reindeer games. BEDTIME!
*Jetstar is the “Jet Blue” of Australian airlines, except in a twist of total airline cheapness, they ask that you call in advance if your suitcase is over 20kg (whatever that means). Chad has been talking about calling Jetstar to report the weight of my suitcase since we booked our tickets two months ago. You need to let them know the excess weight 24 hours in advance.
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