Packing

This week my mom and I went to Portland and she bought me everything. And not everything as in "she paid for what we purchased" - that's a given. She bought everything as in all the goods that were for sale in Portland are now gone. We left the city in a state of emergency: the shelves are bare, no one can find ballet flats to pair with autumn dresses.

Since I'm out of school now and occasionally work, I figured I ought to pay for dinner as a show of gratitude for her depleting the city for my benefit. But she shut me down with the flimsy excuse, "but I get miles if we put it on my card..." If I were a man, this would have been emasculating. Since I'm not a man, I guess it's not. But that's how I felt. Oh well. I'm happy to be the proud new owner of everything that once belonged in Portland.

Said everything is now sitting in the garage waiting to be stuffed into duffels. One could probably make decent suppositions about someone's personality based on the items she deems vital to haul across the Pacific Ocean. For me those items include thigh-high pink socks, two pairs of faux suede boots, and a stack of books that will probably put me over the airplane weight limit. That stack includes works by Studs Terkel, Paul Theroux and Capote. Maybe there's a career in journalism for me yet?

Less than a week left here. Yikes.