John and I are running off to Arizona for a few days to hang out with friends and play golf and just have fun. I'm quite excited because I have never been to the American southwest before. Never been to Vegas. Never seen the Grand Canyon. No, I'm a northeast kind of girl, so this should be quite a revelation. Thing is, I haven't a clue what to pack. The days are warmish, the nights are very cool, but more than that, I have no sense of what the fashionable Arizonian is all about. Don't get me wrong - I'm hardly Sarah Jessica Parker. I have a closet full of clothes, but they're all variations on the same theme: black tights, white shirt, black skirt/dress/pants and black boots/shoes. I call it the edgy nun look, and it will carry me to New York or London, but not, I'm afraid, the freewheeling southwest. I'll figure something out, don't you worry. I just watched Kill Bill 2, and Uma's got the right look when she visits Bill's hacienda: a long skirt, a nice pashmina and a samurai sword.
Wardrobe dilemmas notwithstanding, I have other problems. I've been taking golf lessons to warm up for this trip, and last night, a putting clinic left me bent over like Quasimodo. I've been stretching and applying hot and cold packs with some success, but my spine is still pissed off, and may not make peace with me in time. It reminds me of the time, many years ago, when I booked tanning sessions before I went on a trip to Hawaii, and burnt myself sufficiently that I spent the first few days of vacation wrapped in towels by the side of the pool. Clearly I am not meant to venture out of my climate zone.
Stay with me - I don't leave until Thursday, so I'll keep you posted. Just think of the damage I can do to myself between now and then.