Ann
Ipock
Humorist,
author, speaker
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Georgetown
Times
Traveling incognito is not
By Ann Ipock August
08, 2007
what it's cracked up to be , Going out incognito is something I never
do. Friends and family can tell you I never go anywhere without my trademark
make-up, ironed clothes, shoes and matching purse and funky jewelry.Going
out incognito is something I never do. Friends and family can tell you
I never go anywhere without my trademark make-up, ironed clothes, shoes
and matching purse and funky jewelry.On a recent trip many hours away,
all that changed, however. My identity was stripped and I was reduced
to mere nothingness. OK, I'm being dramatic, but to tell you the truth,
it was kind of cool in a way. It made me realize just how much trouble
I'd gone to in the past to "get ready" every day.
On the other hand, it got old real quick.What happened was we traveled
to Baton Rouge once more to move Katie, our daughter, for her final year
of grad school. Her car was jam-packed with everything she owned. Our
car was also loaded down with her stuff, as well as my usual stuff: heavy
luggage, a dozen or so pairs of shoes, a jewelry case and my cosmetics
case.Katie has been promising us all summer that this is her last move
as far as college is concerned. We believed her, too though she mentioned
something on this trip about a Ph.D. while we toured her campus.
I found myself reacting with this strange uncontrollable tremor, all the
while envisioning moving vans, unending leases, long car drives, new roommates,
etc. It's just too much! Not that I'm counting, but this last venture
involved 1,910 miles roundtrip, 15 meals, five days, four nights and several
tanks of gas.It didn't help that Katie's new apartment is on the second
story with a non-forgiving, leg-cramp-inducing cement staircase. (As a
footnote, if she does go for a doctorate, she'll need new parents, 'cause
these are worn out.)
We arrived at dusk and went straight to the car rental place and got a
cargo van that was MY IDEA, as the pickup truck we'd reserved offered
no protection from the threatening rain. Then we went by her old apartment
and loaded furniture. Thankfully, her friends, Scott and Linda, helped
us unload at her new apartment before heading out to dinner.
By now, Russell and I felt like P.C.s and I don't mean "privileged
characters." I mean "pole cats." At least, that's what
we smelled like. So we freshened up, changed clothes and yes I even changed
my jewelry (the silver hoops didn't match the gold-studded Willi Smith
top). I also changed my purse to brown, as the black one didn't match
my brown leather thongs (shoes, that is). I dabbed on some fresh blush,
applied lipstick and was out the door. What I'm getting at is that this
was an abbreviated version of the regular Ann.The next morning, Katie
walked into the bedroom and said, "Mom, you're not going to wear
that, are you?" I had on a medium pink ribbed tank top, light pink
cotton shorts and hot pink flip-flops. I could see her point. "Uh,
it IS a lot of pink, huh?" I replied, feeling tackier by the minute.
The irony is I would NEVER have worn that outfit in a town where anyone
knows me.
The other irony
is that Katie NEVER cares what I wear she is always the first to say,
"It doesn't matter what you wear. C'mon, you look fine!" (That's
because I'm usually causing us to be late and she is getting impatient.)
So I changed into something a little more like me, capris and a cute top
and sandals. Back to the regular Ann.The next morning I didn't know what
to wear, so I dressed sporty, as in gym-like cotton shorts and a matching
top, plus Reeboks. Katie said I looked fine. We ran to the store, bought
an entertainment center and unloaded it just as light rain began. Next,
we went out for lunch, then filled up a buggy at Wally World with merchandise.
Back at her apartment, we got caught in a downpour and were stuck inside
the vehicles Katie and me in her Honda and Russell in the cargo van. After
what seemed like hours (I'm sure it was 10 minutes max), we made a mad
dash for her apartment. We were a sight for sore eyes: sweaty, stinky
and wet.There was no time to shower (we were on a mission!), but we managed
to change into dry clothes once more. I hollered "hold on!"
as I blow-dried my stringy hair into some resemblance of a 2007 hairdo.
I mumbled something about my shoes and jewelry, but was whisked out the
door by the Moving Brigade. We ran more errands, jumping in and out of
the car in 97-degree heat, sweltering humidity and more thunderstorms.
One final clothes change, then we met her friends for dinner. I'm sure
our motley crew looked like orphans that, or drowned rats. If we'd had
pictures taken, you'd swear we were "Wanted."We're back home
now, and I admit I toyed with the idea of changing into that easier, breezier
lifestyle no makeup, no shower, no problem? Wrong! It would be a problem
because I'd miss the routines (and comfort) of hot showers, clean clothes,
all those frills and the regular Ann.