Yesterday, I realized that there was one thing about datecation I was beyond willing to give up: the struggage.
struggage (n.): the travel plight of single women everywhere, it is a combination of overpacked luggage (“But I need black and brown boots!”) and lack of upper body strength (“But I just want to do cardio!”). Traveling alone to visit a fabulous friend in a fabulous locale, the single girl has visions of herself looking like Audrey Hepburn or Grace Kelly as she heads to the airport…but in reality, looks like a grunting hot mess as she heaves and hoists her struggage down her I-can-only-afford-a-walk-up apartment stairs and into her cab, pausing every few steps to remove her oversized sunglasses and wipe her brow with her attempting-to-be-chic-while-traveling pashmina.
As a frequent traveler and single girl, I have been cursed with struggage for years. I’ve had some nightmare struggage too; when I left NYC last year, I overpacked my suitcase so badly that the broke off handle as I left my apartment. You don’t even know struggage till you’ve traveled with a 75 pound suitcase that has no handle. (And you don’t even know sadness until you’ve racked up $300 in baggage fees/a new suitcase for your roommate all because you wanted to avoid the $25 it costs to check a second bag.)
But last night was the first time I’ve ever traveled with a guy who can carry my bags and I must say, there is nothing about being single I am happier to see go.
However, I can’t say that yesterday wasn’t a little struggs still. We almost missed both our flights and Texas to Detroit (plus an hour and fifteen minute car ride to my house) is just a seriously long, tiring day of traveling! It felt great to go to bed last night, but it does not feel so great to be up this morning, knowing I have more to do in the next two days than I can even stand thinking about. (On that note, don’t forget about my Webinar tonight!) The struggage is turning into several boxes and bins worth of struggage and choosing what to bring and then fitting it in my car is going to be worse than carrying a suitcase down a flight of stairs alone.
And also — last night I got home after midnight and Preston woke up so I went in to say hi. I asked him if he missed me and he sat straight up and said, “I really think you and Eric are going to set up my Wii.” Yes, even though it’s been three weeks since his birthday, apparently his damn Wii still isn’t set up. Ending annoying days of packing playing Wii was going to be the best part of coming home, but now I can’t do that till I set it up.
The weather is gorgeous and it’s so nice to be home; I’m ready to say, “F it,” pack the basic essentials, skip organizing anything, and just spend then next two days playing outside and celebrating my birthday. As long as I head back with my Magic Bullet, I’m kinda over the rest of my belongings.
Apparently, getting everything you’ve ever wanted brings with it a whole new set of problems. It’s just that now, a bitch ain’t one.