Oh, you sillies, not that kind of tripping. This ain't no Burning Man blog (although full disclosure: I have a couple of friends trying to convince us to go next year, but ehhhh I dunno, I feel a little jumping-on-the-bandwagon-ten-years-late-and-after-massive-commodification, ya know? Also it sounds kind of fun. And dusty).

No no: we're talking road tripping.

See, before we embarked on our journey (for which I had to pack not only for the two weeks of actual cross-country driving, but for the week we spent being displaced prior to our departure, and for the week of I-have-no-idea-where-anything-I-own-is after our arrival), I put a lot of thought into packing. I tried to streamline everywhere I could, packing the bare minimum so that we wouldn't be overloaded...but when it came to toiletries?

Goodness, do I ever have ugly feet.

I know they don't look all that ugly in this photo; that's because I surrounded them with my cute new floors to distract you (and also because I used FaceTune to spruce 'em up a bit before posting this shot, ssh; no but seriously, nobody needs to see those things in their un-retouched state).

I'm belaboring this point because we're not really talking run-of-the-mill ugly feet (as most feet are); we're talking a disaster. Partially because I can't remember the last time a pedicure was on the menu, but mostly because my crazy-dry skin (you know, the that I've whined about here over and over and over) makes itself extra-special apparent on my feet, resulting in actual, Grand Canyon-style cracks (it's as attractive and comfortable as it sounds). I'm willing to ignore a lot of things, but for-real holes in my feet? Nothankyou.