now that we know where we're going, we can pack. Oh. Joy.

I know that my family tree includes immigrants from many parts of the world; what they obviously have in common (other than Me) is a talent for packing and getting out the door and on the road. Or the boat. Must be a recessive gene. I did not inherit it. A few years ago, I was fretting about what to pack for a rather lengthy voyage to Myanmar and Cambodia, and a friend who has no thighs advised that a t-shirt and a sarong were all that was necessary. I don't know which i envied more, the carefree attitude or the thigh situation. I am descended from a lady who arrived in New York Harbor with a trunk of ball gowns -- she boasted that she didn't need corsets.

Restaurant clothing must allow me to eat, must be fairly indestructible, and must be smart enough that one looks, if not Parisienne, at least like a native of some place where clothes are sold in stores, not catalogues.

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