I can see you all now!
Don't you look all lovely in your jammies?
Wait, what's that? Is it a tinge of egg yolk on your collar?
Naughty boys and girls!
You have soooo taken advantage of the fact that I could not see you properly...
And, this week I have also succumbed to the plague of old age, by buying a shopping trolley because I could no longer face schlepping my baggage (emotional and otherwise) back and forwards through the city, pulling my already dodgy spine out of alignment.
I surprised him somewhat yesterday when I turned up for my lift at dusk with a nifty, sporty trolley in tow, stowing it safely in the back of the car. In it I had all the necessary study books for my counselling course, a few items and stocking fillers for Grizz AND my hefty handbag! For even my beloved Patrick Cox handbag has started to pull my shoulder out of joint!
I can't get away with minimal when it comes to being prepared. I might swoon at itty-bitty, impossibly chic clutch bags, but cannot manage all day so far from home with one. I need my pens and writing pads, some days I take my Kindle, yesterday I carried a paperback book which I could not stop myself buying from a charity shop *Ahem*, a can of Diet Coke, a home-made sandwich in silver foil, my Filofax, my cheque book, my two purses (one for coins and bus tickets, one for cards, notes and receipts), a large comb, a bagful of make-up (for without which I look like a witch!), Bach Rescue Remedy and all my therapy stuff, including a voice recorder, as well as other paraphernalia... If I were to start carrying a lap-top (which I'll need to for counselling work in future), you might as well launch me as a sailing ship - H.M.S Fhina!
Most days that I spend in town, without any kind of way-station to rest at, I feel at best like a modern day, pioneering pack-horse. Ready to rumble, but also ready to drop!
I am conscious of how I look with the shopping trolley, although it is an absolute doddle to pull around - There's no weight at all to it, but I feel it ages me. It marks me out to predators as one of the weakest of the herd... I sense its bulk, and its chastising of me for not looking after my body and my back well enough for all these years.
My hubby mocked me a bit for the trolley and will undoubtedly complain about the space it takes up at home, but I'm absolutely fed up of having to decide to leave grocery shopping, or a bag of dried muesli for the rats, behind for another time, because the bags cut into my fingers and my shoulders are screaming...
I would be really interested to find out how you manage, my pets. What floats your boat? What gets you from A - Z in full possession of your mental faculties, when it comes to bags and baggage. What's the solution?
A bientot, mes belles - Je vous aime! Mwah!