EN ROUTE

I can’t believe it, but Ellen and I are on the plane to Heathrow! It has been kind of a whirlwind these past 24 hours trying to get everything in order—mainly because I only started getting things in order in these past 24 hours. Whittling my life (read as: shoes) down to 2 suitcases and a duffel wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. Naturally, the dilemma that ended up exhausting most of mental energy was whether or not to pack, my Ugg boots. I really didn’t want to be “that girl” who brings Uggs to Africa. But I also didn’t want to be “that girl” who is cold in Africa, which is arguably worse. The Uggs bounced back and forth between my “Pack” pile and my “Leave” pile literally all day. At one point I created a “Send to Gitmo” pile for the Uggs and the other mental mind ninja terrorists my closet might be harboring. So many questions ran through my head when it came to these boots with da fur… What I wear my apple bottom jeans with now? Was there even a point in me bringing the Reeboks with the stripe? It got so bad, that I eventually send Ellen a text, trying to be nonchalant about the Ugg Dilemma of 2010. She talked me down from the ledge and I ended up not packing them, which turned out to be a good thing… ]

Before leaving for the airport, I remember mentally patting myself on the back for packing light. When Ellen mentioned not having room to pack her hairdryer, I jumped at the opportunity to shove something else into my suitcase and offered to take it. Had you asked me if the suitcase looked half-empty or half-full, I would have said half-empty—like your brain, for asking such an absurd question. That’s how light of a packer I am in my head. I got to the counter and the British Airways woman informed me that one of my bags is actually 34 kilos. While impressive, this is also not allowed. Their limit is 23 kilos. Whoops. Ellen appeared and started helping me shuffle around my luggage into my other two “half-empty” bags, which we find out are not empty at all. Not even ¼ empty or 2/7 empty, they are actually very very full. At around 28 kilos, the imaginary plethora of room in my other bags has been exhausted. Elle and I take out 4 pairs of jeans and 3 books and shove them into the last viable option—my purse. That was the moment I realized my “purse” could have a lucrative career as a stunt double for a bowling ball bag… with 3 bowling balls in it. I tried to casually sling this bag over my shoulder and immediately gave myself a hernia. At this point, my bag was 25.4 kilos and the British Airways lady took pity and let it slide. Jeans are still peeking out of my purse. Sisterhood of the traveling pants: redefined.

-Becca