Yep. . . after being on the road for a full six months and only being in our own home for two nights, my e-mail had an amazing message this morning. Trip Advisor wrote me with the heading "Your friends think you need a holiday".
Which seemed funny when I saw it this morning, but by the end of our third day of unpacking, LK suggested that a holiday wouldn't be such a bad thing after all. I agreed, except it would mean packing and then unpacking a suitcase. And if there is one thing I don't want to do is more unpacking.
Of course, unpacking a weekend bag isn't quite the same as unpacking everything you own in the world. Both of us seem to be learning a few things from unpacking all our earthly possessions.
For years, as you may recall, I have been trying to convince my darling that perhaps she has just a tad too many pairs of footwear. I've been tactful, funny, insulting, snarly. She's ignored me like the pro she is.
But yesterday, as she unpacked another large carton crammed with footwear that she had to sort and bring into the other room, she said, "Donald, if I ever start to look like I am going to buy more shoes, you have to remind me that I told you I should never buy another pair again."
So that's the solution, I thought. Arguing and cajoling won't make a dent in her resolve to acquire more. In the future all I have to do is throw all her shoes and flipflops and boots into big boxes and make her sort them out and return them to the closet. Voila - instant shopping cure.
Or more likely, instant divorce, because of course we all know that this is a spur of the moment comment and there is no way LK is serious about not buying more footwear.
It's more or less like when you realize how fat you are and you say, "I'm not having a drink for a while and I am seriously going on a diet until I lose a lot of weight. If you see me drinking or eating the wrong foods, you should just take them out of my hands and remind I said to do it."
Sure you mean it right then because your pants are tight and you're having trouble seeing your feet. But a trip to the Big and Tall Guy's Store - or just some judicious spandex in the waistband - and you don't really expect to have hand-to-hand combat if you decide a martini is the perfect way to begin the evening.
Well, I will probably find out soon enough. Because this afternoon LK unpacked some of my clothes and I tried them on. Much to my surprise they seem to have shrunk during the six months they were in storage.
That settled it. It's back to the beach for me - South Beach Diet, that is. I told LK of my resolve and that she was fully authorized to enforce it. She smiled. "I guess that means we won't be able to have comfort food all this week," she said.
"Well," I said after thinking for a few seconds. "Actually I can start the diet a week from now. But really - you have to make sure I stay on it once I start it."
LK nodded sagely. My wise wife knows the chances of this happening the way I say it will are about as remote as - oh, I don't know - maybe, her not ever buying shoes again.