...& we all know God's favorite swimsuit is...

WOW, I need to pack. Seriously.

When I walk into my room, the first thing I do (everyday for 4 or 5 days now) is almost stumble over the duffle bag sitting in the middle of my floor. Sure, it already has a sleeping bag and a tent in it. And all the “cute” bathing suits I own (including sweet baby Jesus’ favorite style – the Tankini of Holy Modesty). And a dress. And snacks. (That says something about my priorities, now doesn’t it?)

But I am lacking a few crucial items. Shampoo might be a good plan. Toothpaste. “Normal” clothing. People like it when I do NOT wear the same outfit for 2 weeks running.

But, shocking though this may be, I hate to pack.

The decisions, the folding, the organizing…

Ew.

Thus, every evening I wage war. A quiet war. I walk into my room to put away my shoes or purse or sunglasses or whatever (I’ve become rather organized in my attempt to stop losing things!) and my bag is there. Staring at me. Accusingly. My laundry basket – full of clean clothes – beckons.

And I pass them by, put away my shoes, and go make dinner.

Another small victory for laziness.