Pack rat

I was born without the ability to pack. It's like a genetic deficiency.

A two-day getaway takes my hubby 15 minutes to prepare for. I can see the calculation in his head. "Two days. That's how many Royals' shirts? Done."

And, then, there's me: Ms. Katie Overpack.

Our last vaca was for 10 days. Holy mother. You can't imagine the stress this caused. How am I supposed to know what I want to wear eight days from now? I can't decide what to eat for lunch.

And, then, there's that 50lb. weight limit the evil airlines impose. Sigh. Don't they know I'm tall and my clothes are heavier? (Can you hear me whining?)

I have been that girl at the front of the line sorting through my clothes for all the airport to see, looking for a way to make my bag lighter. Sometimes it just takes a few shakes of the bag -- and, maybe a kick -- and those pesky numbers go down. (If only losing weight were that easy, right?)

Other times, it takes luck. Like on the way home from our 10-day escapade, I knew my bag was over the limit. But, an (un)fortunate incident at skycap saved my tail. While checking in for the flight, I happened to gaze down and realized my skycap's fly was open.

"Hmmmm," I thought. "That looks like leverage." Well, leverage and somethin' else.

As the skycap lifted my bag on the scale (think Olympic-style weight lifting) and started to read the number, I politely informed him that his barn door was open.

Miraculously, the number on the scale no longer mattered. I checked in. And, me, half my closet, and all my vacation treasures made it home in one bag.

Would I have felt bad if the plane went down because I was over the limit? Well, sure....