I’m leaving for the RWA National Conference on Sunday, and I have this fear that I’m going to forget something important. Like my awards night dress.
Sounds silly, but unfortunately, it’s not unprecedented.
Back on 2002, we drove from Santa Maria (CA) to Phoenix to visit family and attend my childhood friend’s wedding reception in Tucson. We packed up the car for our overnight trip, left the kids with grandma, and hit the road with enough time to make the drive, check in to our hotel, change, and walk downstairs for the festivities.
Unfortunately, the kids weren’t the only thing we left in Phoenix. Hanging neatly on the closet door of our guest room were my dress and my husband’s shirt, slacks, and tie. When did we figure it out? As soon as we pulled into the hotel parking lot and grabbed our bags.
We looked at each other and asked, “Where are our clothes?” Followed by a few choice expletives.
Somewhat reminiscent of the frantic race to sell our van in Los Angeles just the year before, we checked in to the hotel—coincidentally, the one where we got married—and made a mad dash to the mall for suitable attire. Sadly, our shorts and flip flops just wouldn’t do.
I’m proud to say that after weeks spent looking for a dress in California, I found a new one in 45 minutes flat. The Engineer had equal success with his own threads and we were “only” about an hour late for the two-and-a-half-hour event.
At least we got new clothes and a night in a gorgeous hotel without the kids out of it. Too bad the stress probably took days off my life…
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