Remember when I told you my luggage was on its last wheels and that I would need to replace it? How bummed I was; how peeved. The wheels were broken, I was sure. The latch wouldn’t close, the brakes were surely busted.
Before I clicked “Purchase” on two new suitcases — a huge expenditure for a person who travels as much as I do, hauling quilts, books, and homework from coast to coast — I decided to try something. I decided to try some WD-40 on those wheels. I remember WD-40. My dad used to use it on stuff. It’s lubricant for wheels and things. Maybe my wheels weren’t ruined, just squeaky. So I went down to the hardware store and bought some WD-40.
Then I thought about the rainbow-colored straps I see wrapped around suitcases on the baggage carousels, sometimes. Those straps… I decided they’re for keeping luggage closed tight when a latch is broken or dodgy. I tapped my nose. I looked at my luggage. Then I went out and bought a wide, black strap for $8 bucks at the luggage shop in the Loop.
Today, my silver hard-top suitcases are more fabulous than they have ever been. They are fixed.
Both pieces roll like they’re on rails — real smooth. The WD-40 was magic. It’s almost spooky how little sound I make as I walk with my suitcases. I could easily commit a murder while wheeling my suitcases along with me. That’s me: The Luggage Killer.
And the strap. That luggage strap is like a seatbelt for my soul. The buckle is big and strong and when I pull the strap tight and snap it (click!) around Suitcase #2, it feels physically satisfying. I feel like I’ll buy one for my other suitcase, just because. Snapping that black belt around my possessions is like swaddling a baby. And it makes a really good sound.
The only problem with all this is that when I was buying my strap and my WD-40 and spraying the stuff all up in those wheels, I literally thought, “It would be nice to have a husband. He would do this stuff.”
Isn’t that terrible? Or maybe it’s not. I have no idea. I do know that some people will spit out their tea when they read such a sentiment. Because girls can take care of themselves. Because not all men know about WD-40, anyhow. Because I’m clearly a capable woman. Because men shouldn’t have to be the ones in a relationship to do stuff with wheels. Because gender, because Mary, because ew, because no, because yes, because God, because etc., etc. It’s a very fraught thing to say, this, “I wish I had a husband who would WD-40 my wheels for me.”
I know. But I’m posting this anyway.
I don’t long for a husband. I really don’t. Not right now, maybe not ever again. And I did, after all, fix my own luggage; I figured it out. But I’m being honest. There was a moment of feeling bummed out because it took me a several months of wheeling around a pair of suitcases that sounded like dying ducks before I thought about repairing/fixing them up and, when that did occur to me, it was up to me to do it. This could also just be a nasty case of woe-is-me, in which case, yuck.
But that’s what happened. Also, I have a full can of WD-40, so please: Call me. Let’s grease some wheels. I will have this can of WD-40 for the rest of my life if I don’t make some house calls.
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