What I’m about to relate is bound to raise a few envious brows. No, I don’t have a fast metabolism that requires a copious consumption of chocolate calories to maintain a svelte weight.
This is so much worse.
DH loves to travel. Not only does he love to travel, he loves to plan the trips. So–to keep him happy, I let him do everything. Big of me, I know.
Here’s the deal: We discuss a few locations, and then he’s off like race horse at the starting gate, working up itineraries, memorizing street maps, doing God only knows what else months in advance of the trip. Don’t get me wrong, he tries to include me in the decision making process. He loves to discuss the scenic sights we’ll see, places we’ll go, the accommodations, the restaurants where we’ll dine, etc. etc.
I don’t listen.
Yep, in one ear and out the other. Certainly, I don’t contribute anything. Packing my clothes at the last possible moment is about as close as I get to any active involvement in vacations and I do that only under duress–he’s threatened me with nudists camps if I don’t cooperate and throw something in the suitcase.
We’re going to Florida next month. (Remember? I blogged about the trauma of having to go clothes shopping) This is sort of a business vacation, as DH has a conference to attend during part of the . . . I guess, its either nine or ten days–no ten, definitely ten days–we’ll be away.
Disneyworld and St Augustine feature prominently in the trip. Last week, I did finally pay enough attention to get the name of the hotel. That’s about the extent of my knowledge.
I’ll let you know what we did.
P.S. Oh–did I tell you we have another trip coming up this summer? DH has been planning this one since last year. I guess we’re going someplace really good. Please don’t ask me where.