Baggage Claim: I became a head case and bought the wrong suitcase
It’s not terribly original to call an oversized something “Big Bertha.” It’s so played and I suspect Callaway Golf has the name copyrighted for their ginormous driver. There’s a big hunter at our barn—part draft horse--called Bertha, as well. Otherwise, I’ve never personally known a Bertha (and I hope no one nowadays would give their daughter such a name), but that’s what I’m temporarily calling my new suitcase. Feel free to suggest a more imaginative name. This big-ass suit case came into my life the evening before a recent trip to LA. Although I don’t fly out every week like some road warriors do, I’ve done my share of travelling and I’m really grateful for that. Most of it has been for what you call “pleasure,” although getting ready for a trip is rarely that. Shouldn’t it be easy to throw a few things in a suitcase and head for the c oast? Not when my old nemesis “trip anxiety” sets in. Symptoms include the three “P”s—panic, procrastination and paralysis. For love or money, I coul...