I couldn’t decide whether to title this “7 Butters Prepare For Vacation” or “One Butters Does it All”… Because you know and I know that even though 7 Butters are heading to the Cape for vacation, only one Butters is saddled with the job of getting every single thing and every single person READY for said vacation.
And do you know who that one poor sap is?
I’ll give you a hint: she’s short and she’s disgruntled. That’s right…Me. I’M the one in charge of doing the crappy prep work necessary for a week down the Cape. I know, right!? Ew. But if I don’t do what needs to be done then I run the risk of 5 kids bringing 5 suitcases stuffed with random crap like wii controllers that are broken and have no batteries anyways, three or four mismatched socks, an arbitrary shoe, and a handful of crayons. It would be way more annoying to be stuck down the Cape with those ridiculously packed suitcases and having to hand wash and air dry everyone’s underwear each night because no one had the good sense to pack even one pair of skivvies. It’s easier to just do the grunt work myself…and then complain about it.
But, blech, that means that I first have to figure out what everyone needs to pack. Which means I need to make sure everyone has enough clean clothes to actually pack what I TELL them to pack. Which means I have to do a ton of laundry. Which means I have to go rooting thru all the dirty laundry to pluck out specific clothes to be washed. Which is gross. Trust me.
It also means that once I finally have everyone’s clothes washed, dried, folded, and sorted into individual piles, I’m free to move onto the more annoying nitty gritty part of packing: the toiletries. Which means I need to pack what I KNOW we need (toothpaste), and also what we COULD need (band-aids), and also what we probably won’t need (Benadryl).
A week down the Cape means I’m also in charge of packing food. Which means I need to go shopping. Which means I need to make a plan of what food we need so that I’m not just buying a bunch of random crap. Which means I need to plan certain meals. Which totally sucks.
The “get ready to go on vacation” experience of every single other member of the household is absolutely NOTHING like my wretched experience. At. All. Their experience is quite lovely, and goes a little something like this: “Oooh, look! Our vital Cape-Cod-for-a-week clothes have miraculously washed, dried, and folded themselves! How perfectly splendid. And as if that isn’t delightful enough, our suitcases are all down here in the hall…why, they must have just walked down from the attic all by themselves. There simply is no other explanation.”
Then they pack their crap and drag their suitcases out to the car and then, well….then that’s it. Then they just get in the car. Which means I’m running all through the house like a mad-woman because I’m left with less than 5 minutes to pack all MY stuff. Which means I end up just whipping stuff into a bag and hoping I don’t forget anything intregel to my happiness like my bathing suit bottom or my phone charger.
Which means I’m the last one in the car.
Which means everyone is like, “What took you so long?
Which means that part of my preparation for vacation always seems to include me having to try really really REALLY hard not to tell everyone to just fuck the fuck off.
Which means that my secret hatred of vacations continues thrive. And shows no sign of letting up any time soon.