Traveling with Bub

...Bub and I are hitting the road again, this time bound for Hawaii for...three days. I'm still mystified as to how I agree to travel 28 hours (not counting layovers) to spend 72. In case you're wondering which half of the relationship planned this whirlwind, a clue - one of us is currently parked in the up-and-coming (my hood being more "coming" than "up") 14th St area, the other probably sitting on his balcony in sunny, 5 hours-from-Hawaii, California. As usual for Bub, we have a packed itinerary - I just show up and make sure I look cute for the photos in overpriced Anthropologie sundresses.

The best part about Bub is, whenever he's ready to go, that's it, we're going. I can sympathize - when I want to start moving, in my rush and my excitement I completely dispense with all practicalities. Toothbrush left upstairs? Too late, we're already in the car. Thankfully, neither of us have anything dependent upon us for survival (plants, goldfish, children) - they'd never make it past the first weekend.

Maybe it's because we see ourselves there - in this case, moving through Yosemite with the ease of moving around the coffee table in the living room - as opposed to thinking that journeys begin with a single step or getting there is any part of the fun. The car is for singing along to Bon Jovi, and we do that all the time. Case in point, the conversation prior to departing for Yosemite:

Me, looking down at Bubs' feet: "hey, you got your dress shoes shined. They look nice."

Bub: "Thanks, grab that thing for me over there, would you? We're late."

Me: "Bub, you did actually pack more than a pair of dress shoes to wear in a national park, didn't you?"

Bub: "No, why?"

And he had no idea why he might need more than a pair of dress shoes. I finally got him to at least bring a pair of sneakers (and of course, he complained about how late I made us). And once there, we moved amongst hikers in leggings with camelpacks and those climbing hooks you see on peoples' keychains but these were actually in use - with me in skinny jeans and (cute) red flats and him in Converse.

So I'll get to California and meet him at the airport to head to Hawaii and he'll be in dark jeans, black shoes, and a sweater. I would be very surprised if he has packed a bathing suit - or if he even owns one.

(photos from 14th St Girl's birdseye, Yosemite National Park)