the 24-hour trip

The boy and I are off in the morning for a 24-hour trip to Portland to attend the wedding of my friend, and predecessor, Audrey. She called last night on the way to try on her dress, which would be a little last-minute for me, but Audrey marches to her own beat, which is one of her many excellent qualities. I have probably spent more time figuring out what I am wearing to her wedding than I did to my own, owing to the fact that I get a little flustered around social events in other cities, since Santa Fe's fashion style is so laid back I could probably wearing my pajamas to a wedding here with little notice. US Airways somehow or another screwed up our seats so, as far as I can tell, the boy and I are not sitting next to one another, a fact I've decided not to mention to him until we're boarding since there's nothing I can do about it now. I was intensely relieved that today was payday since I thought it was next week and had just checked my bank balance and felt a sense of pending doom about filling up the car for the stupid drive to Albuquerque ($3.19 a gallon? Why?). And I've packed three different wraps, which is ridiculous, and am on my way to packing three different dresses. What is wrong with me? We are going to be away overnight, in part because Peter is only available for dogsitting overnight, plus see bank balance statement, and the boy has school on Monday and, of course, I got a little paper to put out. Speaking of which—