I’ve become obsessed with suitcases.
I want a matching set in red.
I have visions of myself stylishly breezing through airport terminals with my matching red cases.
I’m not sure where #1Hubby and The Feral Threesome are in these visions. Probably parking the car, or lagging behind, dragging the case that has a wonky wheel.
I will be travelling twice without the kids this year.
Once to the US for BlogHer (where DearBabyG will be my proxy family), and once to Cambodia and Vietnam to build houses with the Tabitha Foundation.
We currently have red suitcases.
They are old, mismatched and stained. They don’t match my visions.
#1Hubby quite rightly reasons that ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t replace it’.
So I’ve targeted the weakest case and I’m trying like mad to loosen the wheel, unstitch the handle, widen the zip so it will all turn to shit. With only his belongings inside.
I’m sure he’s on to me, having come out of the bathroom the other day, to find me using my tweezers to widen the zip.
He’s also caught me kicking the wheels. Like a guy does on a car, but with much more aggression and force.
It’s become a sport for us.
He pretends to go out, and then rushes back into the room under the guise of having forgotten something, intending to catch me torturing the case.
Because we’re a bit over the in house movie offerings.
It’s the little things that keep a marriage alive, am I right?
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