While our mobile unit was in the shop getting some much needed TLC we decide to fly home for a few days to recover from our first adventure out. Is it a bad sign that a couple weeks on the road requires a week at home to recover? Seeing as our house was at Camping World 2,000 miles away we were dependent on the kindness of family to take us in. Fortunately we have the ultimate bargaining chip, the first grandchild. In a complete failure to plan, #thegreatscoutdoors and I have conflicting schedules which means she and Husband had stay in Reno for a few days while I flew to Indianapolis, then rally in Minneapolis. See Husband’s guest post about his experience flying solo with the little monster.
I arrived in Indianapolis early in the morning. After a short snooze on the flight I realize I don’t really remember packing and I should see what I actually brought in my suitcase when we get to the airport. I open my bag to find a pair of long johns, 4 pairs of socks, 1 sweater and a long plaid shirt. Excellent, I can make exactly zero suitable work outfits with this selection. The great news is I have a leisurely 45 minutes to get across town to my hotel, shower and get ready before dinner. No problemo! You may be asking how something like this happens; it’s called procrastination people! The combination of caring for the baby, graduate school and my work combined with having very few possessions left in Reno splashed with my complete numbness to traveling means I did not bother to pack until I was leaving for the airport (I’m sure this is a run on sentence, just deal with it). Seriously, we sold all our possessions and live on the road full time, so any expectation of solid decision-making should be done away with.
This is the part of the story where an unlikely hero arrives. I hop in a taxi and explain my predicament to the driver. We, collectively, decide to run to Target to grab a quick outfit suitable for a professional lady like myself. We chit chat along the way and when we pull into Target I let my new BFF know I will boogie right back out. Of course the pressure of finding an outfit on time crunch causes me to grab items I do not need. Like a Van Halen t-shirt and another damn plaid shirt. Come on, get it together! This is the logic that got me into trouble in the first place. (Horn sound: dun dunna daaaaah!) Miss Candace, I found a few outfits for you. Here comes my driver, whipping around the corner, arms full of options for me. How long have I been in here? In the time I found crap I didn’t need my driver parked, bought some gum and found outfit options for me. It’s moments like these I question how I have been trusted to care for another person.
Alright, lets see what we’ve got here. Turns out my taxi driver has taste and can pin down a size. It’s not an outfit I would pick out for myself, but that’s not saying much since I apparently only wear leggings and plaid. I try on the outfit my personal shopper has selected and DAYUM, I look good. Maybe I should really outsource my shopping to my drivers more often. I leave the dressing rooms to find my stylist ready to assist me with selecting shoes. He carries my goods on the way to checkout and I can only imagine that I have adopted a new aristocratic stride. Feeling so posh with my personal shopper. We check out and I am soooo tempted to yell out “Big mistake, huge” as we walk out with my target bag. Just like in Pretty Woman, my driver drops me off at the Holiday Inn Express. I do a quick PTA rinse and put on my glam new threads and make it to dinner right on time.