Close Encounters of The Embarrssing Kind

Checklist for vacation:
                                   passport --check
                                   toothbrush and mini-toothpaste -- check
                                   large sunscreen --check
                                   extra large bag of embarrassment --check

As we got ready to go on vacation last week, I couldn't help but think of the preparation for last year's vacation.

We had booked a safari-- photo.  It's bad enough that the dog looks at me accusingly when I accidentally step on her.  Shooting something?  That kind of guilt I don't need-- and I was running around to all the "outdoor" stores trying to gear up for our adventure.  (Outdoor gear to me has always meant wedge sandals as opposed to 3-inch heels.  Who knew there was a whole world out there of zip-off pant legs and vented shirts!)

Somewhere between REI and LL Bean, I decided that none of my present jammies would do ( you know, for the nightly fashion show in front of the lions), and so I headed to the real stores at the mall.  Unfortunately, trying to find light-weight PJs in October is like trying to find a bathing suit in July or a winter coat in January.  Just.  Not.  Happening.

Except at Vickie's (aka Victoria's Secret, but she and I are on a first-name basis).  God bless their little, "Damn the torpedoes, we sell cotton in winter" hearts.  There, where an inch of lace and two rubber bands worth of elastic can make up a whole trousseau, it is always summer.

Mission accomplished, I was zipping through the mall, bright pink bag dangling conspicuously from my arm (okay, there may have been a dozen few other bags as well--girl cannot live on safari clothes alone-- when I ran into the wife of one of my husband's co-workers, teenage daughter in tow.

"So, your trip is coming up?"

"Yes.  Just grabbing a few last minute items that I need."

At this point, I was blissfully unaware that the Vickie's bag was front and center shouting, "Woo Hoo!!!  Paaar-taaay in Africa!  Let's give those elephants something to really remember!"

Aaand it kept getting better.

"You must be excited."

"I am.  Tim is really looking forward to it too.  Work has been so crazy lately; he needs to get away, relax and have a good time."

"I know what you mean.  The stress can really build up."

"Yes, I'm hoping all Tim's stress will be all worked out by the time we get back."

It was somewhere about halfway through that sentence that I realized the teenage daughter was not really paying attention to us, she was  instead following the neon pink bag like a FOX News reporter follows a presidential candidate.

Now, at this point, I had two options:

A. Explain the bag, which would have gone something like this:
No, no.  The brown bags with the uglier-than-orthopedic footwear is what I meant by preparing for the trip.  Honest.  Look...I have enough khaki here to camouflage Star magazine's 10 Worst Beach Bodies!  I only go to Vickie's for the cotton.
                                                                  or 

B. Ignore the fact that I had just basically told this woman and her daughter that Tim and I were going to make 50 Shades of Gray look like a Mother Goose fairy tale.  I could already hear the conversation when they got home:
     --Well, Tim is going to be really  relaxed when he gets back from vacation.
     --Oh, yeah?
     -- Oh yeah.  Like 'have the neighbors call the police because they think someone is being murdered' relaxed.  Like 'complete all positions in the Kama Sutra: check' relaxed.
    --Oh.  Yeah.  (sound of speed dial being hit on phone)

I went with option B.  Sigh.