That time I was the punchline in the joke of the perfect pack
Photo by Anete Lūsiņa on Unsplash
Despite my type-A tendencies, I dread packing, especially when it requires planning outfits for more than two days in advance.
I mean, how am I to know the outfit vibes of my future self? Even with the guidance of an itinerary bulleting every brunch, breakfast and Instagrammable dinner, what if I’m not feeling the crop top I took over my just as cute but low-key oversized tee?
It really miffs me when I put my silly dread aside, pack mindfully — as in, plot-out-my-lewks-in-the-Notes-app mindful — and still botch the perfect pack.
Like this past weekend, when I actually put effort into what went into my weekender bag to celebrate a beloved friend’s birthday, primarily poolside.
You can imagine my dismay when I realized my bikini top only came with me in the form of a bullet in my Notes app.
So here’s the T…
They say if you wanna make God laugh, tell him you made plans, and when it comes to packing, he/she/them/The Universe is guaranteed a good LOL.
Yet my Molly T. pulled through during ruminative runs and bikini-less breaststrokes.
Maybe, then, the universe joked back, because somehow I packed just right.
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