Tonight I’m home doing my second least favorite thing: packing. I hate packing, but I love making packing lists. I just wish someone would do it for me. If I won the lottery, besides buying a boat and a car with driver, I’d pay someone to pack for me. In my next relationship, I’ll give blowjobs for decent packing jobs. I just can’t stand packing. It’s too orderly. It takes forethought and planning. It involves weather and activities and scenes and are you feeling fat or thin. It involves folding and counting underwear. Tennis racket, going out black shoes, going out brown shoes, flip-flops, sneakers, bedding, towels, and don’t get me started with the hair products. It’s too meticulous. My idea of unpacking from vacation is turning my bag upside down into my laundry hamper, shoes, toiletries, everything. A few days later, I’ll need the toothpaste. Okay, that’s gross. But true. My first least hated thing: being forced to run. Just kill me. I’d rather sit in traffic, without air conditioning than run anywhere. I’m bringing my iPod, though. I will go for a trot to Sag Harbor… but only because no one is making me do it… and they have fantastic crepes in Sag Harbor.