My father's mother, my grandmother Anita, whom we called Neetz (as she is now dead, we refer to her by her given name, Dad's mom), and whose maiden name I thought was Neetz until I was well into my teens since we call my mother's mother Saak, her maiden name, but it turns out Neetz is short for Anita, which makes sense and I should have made the connection sooner since I knew from a younger age that the name Stewart and the coinciding Scottish heritage comes from her side of the family, and by the way, Stewart is now my brother's last name because he didn't want to carry on the legacy of his father's father, passed on this advice to my mother, who is now going by the last name of Marlowe because she is divorced but has a horrible maiden name, doesn't like her mother's maiden name, and so she took her mother's mother's maiden name because she likes the way it sounds with her first name, who passed the advice onto me at an early age: always travel with an extra pair of underpants in your carry-on luggage. I now bestow this advice onto you, and hopefully this story will be memorable enough that the next time you're packing for a long trip, you'll stuff a thong into your purse as an afterthought.
I packed perfectly for Spain. Everything I needed was in my (checked) bag, all of my favorite things, all of my most flattering items of clothing, plenty of undergarments, tons of deodorant, even some pajamas (which I am infamous for forgetting), some tampons just in case, my prescription for allergic reactions, my sunscreen, my swimsuit; all the things you kick yourself for forgetting, I had. In my carry-on luggage, I brought the following items:
My passport.
A copy of my itinerary.
My wallet.
The last Harry Potter.
Everything is Illuminated.
My computer.
My computer charger.*
My phone.
My phone charger.*
My iPod shuffle.
My green pinstripe miniskirt, my black lamade t-shirt, and my Anthropologie bra and panties set bought specifically for the purpose of being viewed by someone who hadn't seen me mostly naked before.
Mascara and blush and deodorant and a toothbrush and toothpaste so I wouldn't look and smell like I'd been traveling for twenty hours after I'd been traveling for twenty hours.
And that's what I had to get me through a week in Spain.
The airport promised up and down that my luggage would show up before the week was up (it didn't). Though we went to buy a few items, namely, two dresses, five pairs of underwear, and a swim suit, I couldn't justify investing in anything that I wouldn't be able to take with me (my carry-on luggage was stuffed full already; in the event I didn't get my luggage back, I wouldn't have anywhere to put anything; in the event I did get my luggage back, I would have wasted money on things I didn't need).
And why wasn't Johnny paying for this stuff, as he promised he would, as he said he was looking forward to? Because I wouldn't let him. I absolutely up and down refused. Because, I am an idiot. Alternatively, I have feminist integrity. But mostly, I'm an idiot. Just so we're all clear on that.
*My wattage converter was in my checked luggage, rendering all of my chargers useless.