So much baggage

Susan McCorkindale
The Memoirist
Published in
3 min readNov 12, 2021


And I’m not talking about the emotional kind

Photo by Erol Ahmed on Unsplash

On what was probably our first trip together, before my husband became my husband, I stood outside Dulles airport waiting for him to park the car. He’s so sweet. He drops me off, so I don’t have to walk from the lot to the departure gate. All I need to do is watch the luggage. All the luggage.

I had a bag to carry on and one to check.

My husband had one to carry on and four to check.

I remember snapping a photo of his long line of luggage and posting it on Facebook. The responses made me laugh.

“Are you guys moving?”

“That’s waaaaay too much stuff!”

And my mother, “Sue, are you two running away? Must I remind you that you have children?!”

It really was too much luggage. It still is. I’m writing this in our hotel room while I watch him pack so we can head home. Both my bags are packed and ready to go. Three of his five appear to be stuffed to the gills and I fear for the remaining two. They might burst. Hell, they all might burst.

That or cause the plane to crash.

I pack light. Super light. Probably too light. It’s a result of having once been married to man who insisted everything I needed to travel could fit in one carry on bag. Anything more than that, and I was being a princess.

Photo by Ashton Mullins on Unsplash

Hmm. He didn’t work for years, let me carry the whole load — kids, work, bills, the mortgage — and I’m being a princess? I don’t think so.

Thus, I’m still recovering.

My new husband, however, packs for every possible occasion. Meetings, cocktails, hitting the gym, relaxing, dinners out. You name it, he’s prepared for it. And he always, always looks amazing. One of my favorite things to do is watch people check him out when we’re out. Last night in fact, I watched a grandmotherly type take him in like she was dying of thirst, and he was a tall, cool glass of water.

I was and always am, so proud to be on his arm.

So he packs too many bags (none of them have burst yet; he’s done stuffing all five now), and he puts up with me teasing him about it.

On that first trip, I said, “Sweetheart, you’ve got so much baggage.”

To which he replied, “At least it’s not the emotional kind!”

Right then and there, I knew he was a keeper. A man with style and a sense of humor.

How lucky can a girl get?



Susan McCorkindale
The Memoirist

Rugby mom, soccer mom, author, hopeless optimist. Reach me at