Adventure Planning



  




So my friend Pamela asked me, “Have you ever been to Tybee Island?”
I said, “No, what’s that?”
She goes, “Wanna go?”
And of course—I said yes. I’m up for any adventure.

But here’s the thing: it’s not just a weekend. Oh no.
This is a full week with her family.

I’m excited… but I’m also quietly praying we’re still friends when we get back.

You guys remember Oprah and Gayle’s road trip, right?
Yeah—besties when they left, but by the time they got home… awkward silence.
Gayle wanted the radio ON, Oprah wanted it OFF.
Next thing you know—two separate cars, two separate hotel rooms.

I’m just saying—if Oprah can’t survive a road trip with her best friend, what chance do I have?

Now—this trip lands on my birthday week. it beats crying into my Dr. Pepper because Van isn't here to celebrate it with me.
I won't be alone, I'll be hitting the
Beach, thrift stores, Gatlinburg, and… a Christmas shop.

Nothing says “Happy Birthday” like buying a Christmas Ornament in August.

But let me tell you about my packing stress.
Do I take one gigantic suitcase?
Or just a satchel and a backpack?
And then—obviously—I’ll need an extra fold-up bag for all the stuff I buy.

How many of you have gone on vacation with one bag… and come home with THREE?
Yeah. That’s me. I’m like, “Oh, I’ll just get a souvenir…” Next thing you know, I’m hauling back a seashell chimes, five t-shirts, and a rolling office chair I found in the weeds beside John's shop.

Then there’s the camera debate.
Do I take my big fancy camera with all the lenses?
Or just my phone?
Here’s the thing: every time I lug that big camera around for a week—I still end up using my phone.
Because somehow a $1,200 Canon never beats “100 times zoom" on my phone

And now…the real question.
Do I take my coffee pot?
I mean, I am a coffee snob.
Do I risk hotel coffee?
Or am I that woman dragging Mr. Coffee into the room like it’s an emotional support animal?

  Maybe you don’t care what it tastes like as long as it’s hot, right?

See, that’s the number one way to ruin a friendship: bad coffee. 
Forget Oprah and Gayle. Pamela could leave me beside the road on day 2.

But you know what? Even if the coffee is terrible, even if I overpack, even if we come home avoiding eye contact—
At least I won’t be crying into my Dr. Pepper on my birthday.

Nope—I’ll be crying into a margarita at the beach.
And that, my friends, is what I call progress.


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