Ah. Saturday. A day to relax. And count the number of fibers or something in fleece. Fleece comes in three thicknesses - or, shall I say, dicknesses, ala Vincent LaGuardia Gambino. There's 100, 200 and 300. Andy needed the lowest number - 100. A lightweight fleece jacket to layer for warmth or wear alone on warmer days.
At this juncture, I should explain the important role of fleece in our lives. When Boo and I lived in Bethesda, I bought a black fleece vest for running. Shortly after purchasing the vest, Boo appropriated the vest for his own personal use. The vest went everywhere with Boo....to the living room during the day and to the bedroom at night. Boo would drag the vest around in his mouth, bringing it with him to the room he was hanging out in.
When Boo and I moved to Reston to live with Andy, Boo discovered many more fleece items. There were more vests and pullovers and jackets than Boo had ever seen - or imagined, I suppose. It was a virtual festival of fleece. Within weeks, Boo had assumed ownership of Andy's fleece collection. Any fleece not hidden within the safety of a closed dresser drawer quickly became Boo's property.
Upon entering our house, the first thing one notices is a pile of fleece at the front door. Each day, Boo drags two or three fleece items from the back of the living room (where he stores his collection) to the front door. Each morning, I return all fleece to the back of the living room. Each night I return home to a new pile at the door. Needless to say, it's pretty funny.
But the funniest thing is when Boo drags a fleece up the flight of steps from the first to the second floor. In Bethesda, there were no steps. Only a long hallway. You could tell when Boo was dragging his fleece. You would hear the zipper clicking against the hardwood floor. In Reston, though, Boo faces a much greater challenge as he hauls over a pound of fleece up a carpeted staircase. But, being the IronCat he is, he's always successful in his endeavor.
Back to fleece. We're in REI - despite Virginia traffic which we've somehow managed to avoid throughout our entire relationship - until today - and there's a ton of 200 and 300. Don't ask me what the unit of weight is. I have no idea. In tights, weight is measured in Denier. That's french for something. Not sure about fleece, though.
Anyway, finally, after about seven or eight hours of fleece shopping we find 100. It was probably also only about twenty minutes of fleece searching. Time is meaningless in REI. Then there was long underwear. Which is apparently "long" no matter what size you get. Does everyone look like they're drowning in long underwear bottoms?
[Time for an aside: As I write this, Boo is inside of the REI shopping bag, trying to get the new fleece. According to Andy, he has made a new home in the REI bag. Once in a while I hear the crinkle of the bag. I don't think he's coming out.]
So, REI was a fairly successful shopping experience. Andy was a little bummed that clothing tags don't include the ACTUAL weight of the clothing. As in how much the clothing will weigh when you carry it. I'm outraged, personally. How could any clothing manufacturer NOT supply such critical information? Isn't the weight of carrying clothing on our backs the critical factor in choosing what we buy? I know that's how I chose my hot pink boa over a heavier wool scarf or pashmina. It's very light. It's ironic that I ended up with a guy who's maniacal about weighing everything. After years of obsessing about those ten unwanted pounds, I'm now helping Andy shop for the lightest pen they make. Maybe he's just trying to send me a message. Oops. That's old eating disorders behavior. None of that here.
As of 6:30 today, Andy's pack weighs 15 pounds. I know this because he practiced packing while I practiced napping. My prediction is that we'll experience 100 different weights before Andy leaves for the trail. This number is based on approximately two repackings a day for approximately six weeks. Ralph weighs 4 ounces. But despite his inability to lose weight, he's going on the trail. Hiking the AT has been a lifelong dream of his.
I got an email from someone today asking how life without Andy was. I think they just thought he wasn't back from Kenya yet. I have a feeling I'll spend the next couple of years answering the question "where's Andy?" I'm trying to refrain from responding with annoyingly smart answers like "Andy who?" A guy who worked as a clerk told me last week that everytime someone said "is it free?" when an item had no marked price he just wanted to kill himself. I, of course, had used that line on a clerk at least twice in the past week. I always thought I was making their day when I said that stupid line. God knows how many clerks I've bored or pissed off with my pedestrian attempts at humor lite. So, I've decided that there will be no tongue in cheek - or is that chic - responses to the question "where's Andy?" Even though I'm trying to not to laugh as I make this promise.
Time to scan the Sunday coupons for sales on oatmeal and ramen. You can never stock up on enough of these staples when your man's setting out for the AT. Oatmeal, ramen and plum wine (for me).