The Slut Goes to Morocco

Dawn Davenport

11

I'm traveling to Morocco to visit my eldest daughter!

I’m traveling to Morocco to visit my eldest daughter!

I’ve dreaded my kids growing up. I’m not proud of this fact, but it is true. I refused to let them start saying they’re almost the next age until the week before their birthday. I, on the other hand, am allowed to say they “just turned” the new age for as long as I want, and I usually want to keep saying it until the week before they get ready to “just turn” into the next year. However, I think I have finally found a perk to their growing up—they move to cool places, and you get to go visit.

My eldest daughter has graduated from college and is now in the Peace Corps in Morocco. How lucky can you get?!? I’m off to visit her next week. The only thing marring this near perfect scenario, other than my worry about leaving hubby and other kids behind, is packing.

I hate to brag, but the truth is I’m a darn good packer. I pack light. I pack efficiently. I walk onto the plane with my small backpack and small rolling suitcase that fits easily into the overhead compartment with room to spare, and feel smug when I see people hauling around all these monstrous suitcases and queuing up at baggage claim for even more luggage. This time, I’m not feeling so cocky.

The problem is my daughter. At least once a week for months she has dropped hints that I’m not to “dress slutty”. In fact, she seems to relish using the word slutty when talking about me. She’s even pulled out the thesaurus and varied her admonitions with “whore-like” and “trampy”. Yesterday, she reminded me that I couldn’t show any cleavage.

Now for those of you who don’t know me in-person, I’ve got to tell you that I NEVER dress slutty. In fact I don’t even own slutty clothes –again not necessarily a fact that I’m proud of, but still… On a good day I’m a B cup. (And by “good day” I mean the day I wear the one bra I bought on sale because it was an A cup mismarked as a B cup.) I couldn’t show cleavage if I wanted to!

What, I asked my dearest daughter, would be acceptable dress in a town in the Moroccan hinterlands? She replied that I needed to cover my arms and legs and show no chest. And by “show no chest” she means that nothing below the two pointy bones in the middle of your collar bone. Right now, reach up to your chest and feel for those bones. I’ll wait. Now, you tell me what you have in your summer wardrobe that does not come below that point. Oh, and it needs to be long sleeved. Do you see my dilemma???

To heighten my worry, she helpfully mentions that her whole town is anticipating my arrival. Just think, she says with enthusiasm, you’ll be the second non-Moroccan most have ever met in their lives. Oh great. The weight of my country’s reputation now rests on my slutty bare shoulders.

The other thing I’ve learned when traveling to visit someone in the Peace Corps is that your highest and best use is to be a mule. As soon as the word spreads that someone’s mom is coming over, the ordering begins. Mr. Fed Ex has been appearing at my door daily for weeks. I’ll be carrying 4 Kindles, a laptop, new clothes, and a grocery store full of comfort food for basically the entire Peace Corps contingent in Morocco. I am also bringing gifts to the family that has helped my daughter—her host family of sorts. Did I mention they had eight kids? So much for traveling light!

I am for the first time in years—and how it pains me to say this— checking luggage. I can hear you gasp, and I share your horror, but I have reluctantly come to the conclusion that there is simply no other way. And the worst of it is that all MY stuff will be in the checked bag since I don’t want to risk loss or theft of all the electronics and even the Mac ‘n Cheese. I have no idea what customs is going to say, but I hope smiling a lot will help get me through. Of course, since I’ll be dressed like a slut, that smile could get me in worse trouble.

So, if you’re in the Charlotte, JFK, or Casablanca airport on Sunday, say hi. You’ll recognize me—I’ll be the middle aged slut lugging a heavy backpack and two over-sized suitcases. I’m hoping to find internet connection occasionally, so will be posting about my travels. If you’re interested, friend me and join the Creating a Family Facebook Support Group.

 

Image credit: Cycle the Ghost Round

10/03/2012 | by Dawn Davenport | Categories: Adoption, Adoption Blog, Blog | 11 Comments



11 Responses to The Slut Goes to Morocco

  1. Betsy says:

    If you’d thought about it, since you’re packing so much anyway, you could have packed a slutty friend to get you off the hook! I miss you, my friend. Hopefully you can spin the story of your travelings with me when you get back. Stay safe!

  2. Kimberly says:

    Dawn,
    This post really had me laughing. Thanks for sharing your adventures with us with your delightful prose!

  3. LOL! We lived in Syria for a couple of years and the one time I didn’t cover my collarbones I was looked on as a floozy.

    I’m jealous of your mad packing skillz.

    Enjoy your trip, you mule slut!

  4. Tori says:

    As someone who just returned from a trip to see friends and family in Chile, resulting in about 7 pieces of luggage (although some of that was our stuff too), your description about gifts and food rang loud and true. Hope you enjoyed every minute of this new experience!

    • Dawn says:

      Tori, we gave the presents to her host family yesterday and it was definitely worth every pound! In fact, we went to dinner with her Arabic tutor on Monday night, and I wished I had thought to bring a few random, unassigned gifts so I would have had something to give them. Oh well, live and learn. Also, not sure where in the world I would have put them.

  5. Sherry says:

    HAHAHAHA! Have a safe trip, you floozy! 🙂

  6. Harriet Lewis says:

    Love your mischievous wit, how you can spin a delightful story, and the heart of love you demonstrate every where you go!!!

    Happy travels, bulky as they will be…but look at it this way, your bags will be empty on the return trip, leaving room for a fantastic Moroccan Rug…just saying 😉 Consider the purchase, “contributing to the local economy”.

  7. The Eldest Daughter says:

    Some mothers would be proud of their child’s advance vocabulary, you floozy tart. Also, I was reading this and thinking, oh dear, maybe I made it sound too conservative, but nope, I stand by covered from the collarbone down. I’m going to get back to the states in a year and a half and not know how to dress.

    • Dawn says:

      Eldest Daughter, you could at least have sounded contrite for having caused me such consternation. (Notice all the big words I just used and not a one of them defamed your character.)

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