Because I know you’re dying to know: Did we make it back home with all our luggage?
I have to admit, though, I’m feeling a little smug at the moment – because for the very first time in years, the luggage that is missing is not mine.
WELCOME TO THE DARK SIDE, KENDRICK.
I know that our (usually “my”) extraordinarily – even supernaturally – crappy luck with getting bags from one place to another makes zero sense, I feel like I have to explain each and every incident to you, so you know I’m not lying. (I’m not.)
My luggage (which was later found and returned to me) went missing for no reason, just as it has gone missing the last three times I have visited Ohio for no reason.
Kendrick’s luggage went missing for the same reason that our stroller has disappeared forever and ever: Because someone put a little tag on it at the gate, told us they were going to put it on the plane, and then threw it away. Different airline, same result. Also it was a new bag and he hadn’t put a luggage tag with his information on it yet, and since the gate-check tag doesn’t include information about your final destination I have no idea where to even begin looking for this thing (Cleveland? Chicago? The ether?), sooooo…
Here are photos of us sledding with Kendrick’s dad, which was much more fun than the luggage-losing part of the trip. (Try not to be jealous of how glamorous my outfit is. It was cold.)