Curing Cold Feet

what fun is a vacation if you don't relive it?

OK, what kind of travel agent loses her own suitcase? Not at the airport, like a normal person, but in my own house.

It's bright blue, wheeled, carry-on size but I usually check it because my camera/computer bag already pushes the limits on what they allow in the overhead bins. I keep my suitcases in my walk-in closet, and you can see it the second you walk in. Except now, of course, because it's missing.

I've now been on the hunt for two months, looking in every corner of this 3,000-square-foot home. I took a rolling duffel bag to Hollywood when it didn't turn up, but darn it, I don't like that bag. I only bought it to get all my goodies from Filene's Basement home from Boston last year. The only theory I have: it went poof!

Grief, I hope this is menopause. Because if there isn't an explanation for my memory-challenged brain, I have to live with the confession that I'm a travel agent without a suitcase.

UPDATE: I found it! Inside another suitcase. Sure, combining space is a good idea ... unless you're a peabrain.

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