For once in my life I'm ahead of the prep curve for a little trip later next week.
--The camper is open and airing out nicely.
--The forgotten stuff in the camper refrigerator is in the trash. It, too, is open to the summer breeze so that I need not wear breathing equipment as I perform the straight-bleach procedure.
-- House-sitter Carrie and her Magic Alsatian are firmly engaged. (Yes, magic. He makes undesirable people disappear.)
-- A seldom used camper locker incubates .22 rimfire ammunition, about 220 rounds in those nice old Winchester plastic boxes. Or maybe I forgot it. Anyway, it picked up a skim of that nasty white oxidation. All is tumbling in corn-cob kibbles as we speak. When shiny it will be repackaged against the possibility that I am ambushed on a lonely road by a reinforced company of the 82nd Airborne. Note to self: Clean and oil the Ruger Standard before departure. (The TMR Legal Review Section advises me to warn you against tumbling live rounds. Freeken lawyers.)
--Most important, I have deployed resources from the almost-rag bag. Tees and other of my delicate underthings which, with luck, have exactly one wearing left despite rents and tears and long-retired elastic. Not meaning to preach, but this is perhaps the most vital travel advice you'll ever receive. Throw them away dirty. You'll be traveling lighter on the trip home...
-- ... Unless of course you stop at out-of-the-way flea markets and swap meets and thrift stores, picking up miscellaneous interesting stuff as you continue your eternal quest for that $12 Artillery Luger. (I, of course, would never indulge in that sort of nonsense.)