lesley crewe

author

All my baggage

on May 20, 2010

I bought a suitcase today. I have at least seven downstairs. You’d think I was a world traveller. I’m not sure about this luggage obsession….I think it’s an off-shoot of my handbag obsession, only on a larger scale.

But I am learning.

I didn’t buy the white polka-dotted one that was really cute because even I could see its potential to become very dirty, very quickly. I held my nose and bought the black one beside it. This doesn’t seem like a smart move because everyone has a black suitcase and how will you ever find it on a luggage carousel? Well, that’s easy. You just tie something on it to identify it as yours…like the flannel bit from your dog’s blanket, or a tie-dyed piece of t-shirt your kid made at camp. It won’t come off if you knot it twice and pull really hard.

My graveyard of Samsonite downstairs includes some real dillies. Like the gross dark pink corderoy number I thought was the high of fashion in the early nineties. It was huge and squishy and had another compartment beneath it that held shoes. I couldn’t believe my luck.

 The trouble began when I started to pack it. It was like a black hole. By the time I filled the sucker up, it weighed 800 pounds. You try humping that down into the bowels of the London Tube, where they’ve never heard of escalators or elevators. My knuckles scrapped along the pavement by the end of our month in the British Isles. I cried every night about my sore this, that and the other. The balls of my feet are still numb a year later.

This terrible adventure did finally smarten me up about packing, however. I didn’t use 90% of what I brought with me, so this new medium size bag is all I plan on using from now on. When I showed it to my hubby tonight, he laughed. “You’ll never get all your crap in that.”

So now I have to prove him wrong.

“Why don’t you use your blue suitcase?” he asked me.

Men. 

I don’t like the blue one. It’s too small and it’s too blue.

“What’s wrong with the maroon suitcase?”

“It’s hard. And it doesn’t have a pull-up handle.”

“What’s wrong with the duffle bag thingy?”

“You put a board in it and drilled screws through it to keep it together. It looks like it belongs to Frankenstein.”

“What about your mom’s old one?”

“The one that weighs 1,000 pounds? As if.”

So I have this new one. I’ll see how I like it next week on my way to Toronto. The question I ask myself however, is why don’t I throw out the old miserable ones that are taking up space downstairs? Why do I hang on to these dinosaurs?

I suppose because one of them if filled with my daughter’s 400 Beanie Babies. She doesn’t want them cluttering up her new apartment, but she doesn’t want me to throw them out either. The same goes for my son’s hockey cards and his old hockey equipment his father can’t seem to part with. One of them is filled with baby clothes that I think will be used on my grandchildren some day. (Not really. I wouldn’t dare put old moldy clothes on a new infant, so I guess it’s just to go through them and remember my own babies.)

It’s a damn good thing I’m never moving. I don’t have any suitcases I can use.

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2 responses to “All my baggage

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