Vacation underwear

W and I leave for our trek to Provincetown, Mass., early tomorrow morning.

She told me that she would get me to love road trips.

“Probably not,” I replied.

My voice got all high like Anthony Crispino, the secondhand news correspondent played by Bobby Moynihan on Saturday Night Live.

Pretty sure I’m not gonna love being on the road for eight hours

But that’s how I am.  A hard sell.

I went out today to buy some new clothes for our trip.

A few pairs of cargo shorts and a some new white socks.

I needed underwear, too.  I usually buy Hanes or Fruit of the Loom hi-cuts.  Whatever’s on sale.  I’m not that picky.  I scan the packs for the least girly combination possible.  I can usually find a pack of six with only a pair or two covered in flowers or pastel polka dots.

Today, however, I came up empty handed.  I couldn’t find an acceptable pack of women’s underwear to save my life.  So, I did what any self-respecting butch would do.  I went to the men’s department.

I’d already given some thought to switching over from panties to briefs. I picked up a pack of men’s underwear at Target a few months ago.  I thought that I’d wait until I lost some weight to wear them though.  “I will look totally buff and butch then,” I told myself.

But a lot of stuff happened between now and then.  Like nachos.  And ice cream.  And kids home from school for the summer.

So, I bit the bullet today.  I bought matching socks and underwear.  I figured P-Town would be a good place to romp around in boy briefs.  Besides, if we got mauled by sea creatures on our whale-watching tour, at least I’d be wearing new underwear.  My mother would be so proud mortified.

Puma socks and men’s boxer briefs.  I will be like a cougar.  A big butch cougar.

I don’t remember the last time I was so excited about a clothing purchase.

Oh, and I made one more purchase.  A T-shirt to remind myself to relax and enjoy.

And to let W know that I’m trying.  That I’ll be leaving here Thursday morning with an open mind and an open heart.  That I really am excited to be spending time alone with her, even though my stoic disposition always leaves her guessing.

Good advice for road trips.  And for life.  That and “Pack Lots of Snacks” and “Don’t Forget the Indigo Girls CDs.”

* * *

Books I’m taking: A Return to Love by Marianne Williamson, Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? by Mindy Kaling

Vacation fears

W and I are headed to Provincetown, Mass., this weekend.

“I don’t travel well,” I told her.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

I am a creature of habit.  I like my routine.  My newspaper in the morning.  The big stack of books that sits on the bench next to my side of the bed.  My cat.  The daily mail.

“We can get you a paper in the morning,” she said.

This is true.

“It won’t by my paper,” I said.

Because sometimes I am just difficult and a big giant baby dressed in flannel.

It’s a mask.  A mask to cover up the fear.  The fear of being somewhere different with different people and different food and a different newspaper.

I’m afraid of a lot of things.  You wouldn’t know this to look at me.  Every morning, I dress in a coat of armor.  Masculine clothes with straight, rigid lines shield me from the rest of the world.   My arms folded in a large X across my chest serve as my sole accessory.  An additional barrier between me and them.

The only problem is that it keeps everyone away, even those who love me the most.

* * *

So, we leave for P-Town in three days.  Any suggestions on what to do or where to go?  Maybe a great lesbian bar will help me lower my defense shield.