Getting ready to get ready
My travel prep consisted of:
- getting winter coat dry-cleaned
- having glycolic facial at beauty school
- receiving hair cut at local salon recommended on Yelp
- buying camera that fit in pocket
- taking every single thing out of my closet to see if it fit/I should take it with me
Not looking (so much) like an American
I love being an American, but Jayzu Kreestay we look like utter slobs when we travel.
When we were in Paris (oh-my-gawd I love saying that) it was so obvious which ones were the Americans—their sloppy, poorly fitting clothing gave them away every time, to whit: Whilst waiting outside the Dali Museum for friends I was stunned to see a large, puckery-butted American woman wearing white stretch pants through which her flowered underwear was clearly visible. Outside the Dali museum! You can imagine the contrast…
Any-hoo, in my wand’rings I have determined that non-Americans in non-America do not wear jeans for everything. So, my wardrobe for my three days in London consisted of:
- two pairs of identical black trousers in which I felt I presented a modicum of stylishness, although it turns out that one was navy but so dark that I didn’t notice the difference in color until I was walking to the British Museum in them, even though I had owned them for six weeks;
- two identical shirts, one white, one blue;
- one black turtleneck;
- one brown/black/white/blue stripe-y button-down vest;
- four pair of socks (all black);
- enough underwear to last the trip (or so I thought, but I was just slightly wrong);
- outerwear consisting of newly dry-cleaned winter coat, lovely shawl, gloves, handbag;
- one pair of shoes;
I have traveled long enough to know that one often re-wears clothing when one is traveling, and so two shirts for three-ish days was enough.
Shuffling off to London-alo
I knew that I was going to give up fashion for function in my choice of “Oh-I’m-Going-To-London-For-The-Weekend” shoes, but at least my Shape-Up Work shoes were black.
And my socks were black.
And my pants were black.
And black on black on black blends, right?
So nobody’s going to actually see my ugly-fugly Frankenshoes, the ones with the negative-heel technology and squidgy soles that will allow me to actually walk around London, right?
I must be of an age, because even though I know my shoes aren’t fashionable in any way (they’re waitress shoes, for gawd’s sakes) I don’t care. My hope springs eternal that I’ll have boundless energy and my shoes will be this miraculous miracle that will propel me forward with a bounce in my step and no pain in my body.
The nice things about what I was bringing was that 1) everything I wasn’t wearing fit into an carry-on overnight bag without wheels, and 2) everything could be worn with everything else.
I knew I was not going to any place that required an evening gown (sigh), so the above was perfect—perfect, I tell you!—for my trip.
- shampoo and conditioner
Although I may have decided that the hotel would have the haircare-ware.
A bus, a train, a train, and a bus got from the house to the airport in approximately 50 minutes.
I left from Logan‘s Terminal E.
Grabbed a sandwich, bought a magazine, then they started boarding.
And they start boarding early now-a-days, 1:25 for a 2:45 flight.
A little piddle across the pond
Flew Virgin Atlantic. Plane not full. I’m the only one in a four-seat aisle. Nice!