I'm packing tonight for an imminent trip to New York.
To be frank, I don't like the process of packing. For one thing, I always wait until the last minute to put everything together, because I'm a lazy slacker. For another, I'm constantly beset by the awful feeling that I'll leave behind something absolutely crucial to the trip. (I know, it's not like I'm going to Antarctica. If I leave it behind, New York will probably have it for sale somewhere. Probably at Duane Reade, in fact. But I still hate being forced to buy something I already own, just because I was a bonehead and forgot to bring it.)
So while I'm running around randomly scooping up stuff I think I'll need and mentally beating down the nagging feeling that I've forgotten The Big Important Thing, there's a very small knock at the front door.
What the? Who's visiting at this hour?
But I answer the door anyway. And what to my wondering eyes should appear?
Legoman! (He's hard to see in this picture, but trust me, there he is on my doormat.)
Turns out he wants to go to New York with me. I've got a little bit of carry-on space left in my purse, so away he goes.