Let him go.
11:27 p.m.
That’s not all I forgot. There were two things I wanted to buy at the pharmacy this morning when I dropped Buddy Boy off at the barber’s. One was some sort of depilatory for removing excess eyebrow hairs. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember what the other was. I still can’t. It’s just gone. I didn’t even buy the first item because I couldn’t decide which product to get. Too much choice and confusion reigns supreme.
We got Buddy Boy off on the bus at 1:00 p.m. He’s supposed to call us when he arrives at his destination, wherever that may be, somewhere in the interior of British Columbia. He was actually quite amazed that he had everything on his list and had packed them in two bags and a knapsack. Therein lies a tale.
He needed a pocket knife of sorts and Hubby actually suggested to him that he might borrow my Swiss Army knife. Buddy Boy told him outright that I wouldn’t give it up, that I use it and carry it everywhere with me. For some reason, Hubby didn’t believe that. He gave it to me, for Pete’s sake, and I consider it one of the best gifts I’ve ever received. Well, he broached the subject with me, and of course I said there was no way I was lending Buddy Boy my precious knife. This is our son we’re talking about here, the guy who loses things and has things stolen. No way, mister. It turned out that the survival kit that came with the first aid kit I bought him yesterday has a suitable knife in it, and that solved that problem.
However, as he was packing his bag, a green army-surplus duffel bag, it was evident he wouldn’t be able to fit all his gear therein. So I asked Hubby if there was a possibility Buddy Boy might borrow his tennis bag, a red, oblong, fabric bag which spends most of its time on the floor of our bedroom half stuffed under the end of our bed. It only gets used when we travel, and we have plenty of other suitcases. Hubby had actually been toying with the idea of lending Buddy Boy this bag, but he had to say to me that my asking him for it was equivalent to him asking me for the knife. I’m sorry, it’s not like it at all. I use that knife on a regular basis (Little Princess concurred as she had been using it to cut yarn on the bus back from Toronto as she crocheted a craft project for a friend of hers); the sports bag spends most of its time narrowly avoiding being tripped over.
Okay, fine, we got our son off and I expect him to call about 4:00 a.m. when he arrives wherever it is he’s going. He wasn’t too clear on it himself. I feel very sad that my little boy is so far away, but I have to get over this. Let him go.
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