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Dear Thelma,

(Here's my response to Thelma's moment of irrationality.)

Of course it will fit.  All of it.  Every last bit, whether put there for reasons selfish or charitable, whether soft-sided or hard, whether it causes me to roll my eyes or jump for joy that we're finally getting rid of it.  It will all fit.

Packing is my super power.  Superman defies the laws of gravity.  Spiderman defies the laws of good taste.  (A unitard on a grown man?  Really?)  I defy the logic of constrained spaces.  Neither trunk, nor satchel, nor man-made bin of any kind has yet to conquer me.

Lest you forget, we successfully stuffed two small children with car seats, a television, expansive diaper bags and two weeks worth of essentials into a 95 Saturn for a cross-country trek.

Lest you forget, that same 95 Saturn magically expanded to hold a 6-foot oak table on another occasion. 

Lest you forget, I lived in London for two weeks out of half of a carry on bag so I could subsequently stuff it so full of your favorite chocolate pudding that it exceeded the maximum weight limit.

Lest you forget, we were able to move from San Francisco to Seattle using the small truck.  You doubted me when we started to pack it the first time.  You doubted me again when we repacked it at a roadside rest area because the truck was too full.  Too full.

So, take a deep breath.  Trust in experience.  Say to yourself, "It will all fit."  Then add the kitchen sink to your pile, because I'm feeling cocky.


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