We stopped for the night in Columbia and decided to spend some time at Columbia’s version of Turkey Creek so that I could replace the clothing item that vanished somewhere between the laundry basket and the suitcase. Sarah thought shopping with me would be more fun than younger sibling duties at the cookie store. An 60-something woman walked up to a store employee and began complaining in a completely frustrated voice. “Where can I find men’s underwear? Not thongs or boxers or anything with a pouch, just normal underpants.” Sarah began snickering and turning different shades of pink. The older woman went off on her quest with new directions from the clerk. “What’s the matter Sarah? Is the word underwear that embarrassing?” Sarah’s face turned crimson and she fell apart laughing so hard that tears flowed down her face. The clerk grinned from earlobe to earlobe. I wandered through the women’s lingerie department and Sarah trailed behind me with a steady stream of complaints. “Almost everything is white or yucky tan. Where’s the polka dots or stripes? This is the boring department.” I tried to explain about clothes not concealing bright colors, but Sarah didn’t really want an explanation. She just wanted to be contrary. I went in the dressing room and Sarah suddenly decided she would prefer to be chasing her younger siblings than in the dressing room with her mother. A few minutes later I was at the checkout waiting for the well dressed man buying underwear with his wife’s credit card for the prostitute in the store with him. It was just as well that Sarah missed that theater of the absurd. Even the store employee was embarrassed. Doug called me as I was paying the clerk. “Why did Sarah get embarrassed? How does she get underwear?” I explained that Sarah is visited by the underwear fairy whenever she needs bras or undies. They magically appear on her dresser and the undesired items are plopped on my desk to be returned to the store. I think that the underwear fairy just quit.

I asked everyone to put everything they need for the vacation on the kitchen table. Evan, obviously, gets a free pass on this one. His idea of getting ready for anything is putting a matchbox car in each fist. Amy put out a pile of stuffed animals, her swimsuit and a pair of jeans. Noah put out three pairs of jeans and two t-shirts. Sarah put out two bikinis, 4 jammies and 15 complete outfits that didn’t match so that she could roll her eyes every time I questioned one of the choices. Tommy put out 8 pairs of underwear, sandals, jeans and three t-shirts. Doug was exempt from this exercise because he would wait until we are loading the car to throw 12 pairs of socks, 6 pairs of underwear, 6 swimsuits, 8 juggling clubs and an assortment of juggling balls in the car, without a suitcase. It’s best for everyone if I do all of the packing. Besides, it makes it easier to have a scapegoat when something gets forgotten.

For the first time since 2001, we are actually preparing for a family vacation. I can’t let myself get excited in case I end up staying home with the critters, but I won’t deny that I’m really hopeful. As part of my acceptance, I bought a swimsuit. Yes, I know that most women buy a swimsuit every spring. I haven’t bought a swimsuit in six years. That is two children ago. I would hate to make the 9 hour drive to the beach and sit there in my jeans and t-shirt. I spent two days searching for a swimsuit. I read that there is a store in Knoxville which gives shoppers champagne to drink while they try on $200 jeans. Women should be served alcohol when they brave the dressing room with swimsuits in their hands. I know I’m not alone, because I could hear the other women in the dressing rooms complaining and groaning. Swimsuits don’t cover thighs. Finding a suit that doesn’t require a Brazilian is not a topic I will even attempt to discuss. I don’t understand why swimsuits are made for women with B size busts. I had a C cup when I was 13. They may be lower now, but they are certainly not smaller. Uniboobs are not attractive on anyone. I complained about one suit giving me a “back butt” and Doug acted like I made that phrase up out of thin air. In fact, Doug and I had a few go rounds over the entire swimsuit issue this weekend. Apparently, my belief that 14-year-olds shouldn’t wear the same style suit as 18-year-olds and my displeasure with wearing a swimsuit are based on my low self-esteem. I happen to think that recognizing that you have reached a point in your life when you look better with clothes than without clothes is quite normal. I am content with the size I wear. It isn’t a double digit yet, even if my pants do have to be a short people size. Swimsuits are just not flattering on most adult women. Lucky for everyone, I have no camera to prove to you that I am right. I am. Because . . . the woman is always right. She just doesn’t look right in a swimsuit.