How do you weigh a suitcase? I tried weighing myself, recording the number and then stepping on the scale a second time. This was awkward, as the weight imbalance of holding a piece of luggage close enough to the body to register accurately nearly toppled me onto the tile floor of our bathroom. Whatever the suitcase weighs, it’s heavy when you hug it to your chest while leaning backwards and holding the pose for thirty seconds as your Target-brand digital scale calculates.
“Error,” Kristy said. “Try again.”
My arms–the arms of a man who abhors manual labor–ached as I again grappled with the bag.
“Still not working,” she sighed. “Forget it. We’ll just pay the bag fee.”
I don’t think it will come to that. My best guess, cobbled from decades-old memories of hoisting 50-pound flour sacks at my great-grandmother’s restaurant combined with more recent experiences of picking up my children, is that our suitcases each come in around 40 pounds. (You can bet on whether we are over/under the 50 pound limit in the comments below.)
We leave on Wednesday, two days hence. Today, we brought the kids to my grandparents’ home, where they’ll be staying during our trip. We’ll Skype with them as often as we can.
Tomorrow, we head for my father-in-law’s house in Ohio, where we’ll leave my guide dog. The flight is too long, and there are questions about whether he’d be quarantined upon our arrival. Instead, I’ll use my cane. Trotsky will spend three weeks watching Fox News and eating any Wheat Thins that fall to the floor.