We used to sing this dumb song–if you can call it a song–in college, that I’m pretty sure came from my roommate’s high school. The only lyrics were, “Plastic bag, plastic bag.” Over and over.
And here we are again. Plastic bag, plastic bag. So little room, so many emollients. The good news is that I did manage to find a [decent] moisturizer in a 2 ounce container. The bad news is that the container itself is like a mini Taj Mahal in my already too-small plastic bag, plastic bag.
I suppose I could cut down on some of these items by, say, using my host’s toothpaste rather than dragging mine along. Based on previous experiences with this particular host, my guess is that using his toothpaste wouldn’t be an issue. But you’re talking to someone who dated a guy who insisted on taking an extra backpack to Mexico (for a three and a half day trip) for his dirty clothes. Hello? Plastic bag, plastic bag!
The truly smart thing to do would just be to buy this dumb stuff when I get there. Eh?
[Jam of the Day]: The Beatles, I’m So Tired