Under 'Pants'

Please let my box of underwear have arrived.  Please let my box of underwear have arrived.  Please let my box of underwear have arrived.


This was the mantra cycling in my head from the moment my train pulled into the station.


I had just landed back in London from an exciting -and exhausting- solo sightseeing of Brussels and Bruges.  This was my first night in my new flat, and I was leaving for Sweden early the next morning.  I had been backpacking - and even though I did laundry on day 4 in the hostel...it was now the end of day 9, and there were no stores open to buy a fresh pair before tomorrow. 


When I packed my bags (and boxes to ship to myself) weeks before, I had assumed my boxes would arrive safely in my new flat long before I ever stepped foot in the door - giving me plenty of opportunity to repack for the second leg of my European travels.  After all, my only option for shipping was Priority Mail...and with average payment of $80/box, I knew that four days was the outside time of arrival.  I mailed the boxes on August 17th.  Surely by the 27th they would be in my flat waiting, right?


What's that, you say?  The boxes are held in customs pending a customs charge of £30/box?  Really?  For used underwear and socks?  


Luckily, I found three pair in a last-minute-packed compartment of my giant suitcase.  A shower and a few hours sleep and I'd be ready to jump on a flight to Gothenburg.  Fresh sheets were folded next to my bed...and things were looking up.  I stepped to the shower.  No towels.  Hmm.... 


Feeling resourceful...I grabbed a sweatshirt.  It is soft and plush.  Ah, but it hasn't been pre-washed.  And now I'm dripping wet and covered with black fuzzies.  Back in the shower.  This tank top will have to do!


My travels through Brussels and Bruges were a whirlwind of new sights and time alone to explore as I pleased.  My time in Sweden was a chance for absorption and reflection...a time to recharge before I tackled my new city.  Now I am back in London.  Spent the first week buying towels and shower caddies, basic groceries and Ikea furniture.  Now, I am the daughter of a hardware store owner.  I went to college with a green duvet and a toolbox.  There has never been a time when I did not own a rather impressive set of tools.  And suddenly I find myself without so much as a screwdriver or hammer.  And when did they stop making Ikea furniture assembled solely with the included L wrench?  As my friend, Matt, said, "What's next?  Instructions with WORDS?"  So with the help of a butter knife, a pair of scissors and the heel of a high heel shoe (one that I wished I hadn't spent the money to ship) - I assembled a dresser, a clothes rack and a small bookshelf.  


Now I am settled.  Ready to tackle the books.  Classes start in a week, so - like every summer reading list  I've ever received - it comes down to the final week, and I MUST start!  Greek theatre is the first up to bat.  The school dress code and no-makeup policy is going to be a challenge.  I know my 13 year old self will be trying to sneak out of the door with just enough makeup so that no one can tell.  But the all-black wardrobe is going to free up a LOT of my mental space.  Because I enjoy fashion, I spend a lot of time and mental energy on whether these shoes look cute with this belt, how to change up the combinations of shirt and sweater to make it look fresh and fun, whether to play up my eyes or fill in a dark lip....all these are factored out of the equation.  Black matches black matches black.  Done.


Maybe this is how people are able to go to the gym in the morning?