I was really attached to it ... but not so much anymore.

This is a dark tale of loss.

It started with the incredible amount of luggage that Bork and Genie brought back from Korea. They were going to stuff their car with as much of their stuff as they could fit, and JLITH was going to bring back two suitcases, and my father was going to bring back a bit when he travels back to SLC in September, but even that was not enough to suffice. So it is that I was (unknowingly) volunteered to bring a large suitcase (hereafter LS) back with me on this latest trip to SLC.

I was not overly excited, since I’ve been used to take the bus to LAX, and just didn’t want to do it with both a large and small case. However, as I supposed that I would be able to get a family member to drive me to the airport, I acquiesced. Then came the awful argument that ensued when I found out that no such accommodation would be forthcoming. I was quite upset, to say the least.

I ended up making a date with a Primetime shuttle, with my feelings of high dudgeon firmly in place. Thus it was that I was prepared for a 0435 pickup. Didn’t have to do much with the LS, as the tip was mandatory, and I believe in letting people feel the gratification of earning their tips.

However, at the airport, my dudgeon escalated to even higher altitudes, as I discovered that the suitcase was broken … ie: the pulley was absent, and the LS rolled with the greatest reluctance.

I regained my composure after checking the horrid thing, and proceeded to the gate so that I could do the SW line-dance and be one of the first passengers on board.

Had problems with a group of the K-race who decided that previously formed lines have no validity. I might have been in a bad mood if I hadn’t gotten a seat in the first row of the plane.

After arriving in Zion, and having made it to the luggage carousel, I was a little tired and grouchy. The first piece of luggage I recognized was the LS. Dutifully, I grasped the handle and swung it off the metal sheet parade. And as it neared completion of its arc to the ground, it made contact, at just the wrong angle, with my right great toe. After I said a couple unladylike words and stopped wincing from the pain, I took a look. Blast! I had really been rather attached to that toenail, but no longer. It was hanging from just the base, and dripping pretty droplets of crimson blood.

Quandry … do I put the LS back on the carousel so that I can limp over to the restroom to get a towel to sop up the stream of pretty blood, or do I drag it along? At the risk of repeating the awful event and losing my other great toenail (and really, all my toes were great, still having the benefit of a lovely pedicure), I decided to lug the detritus along with me. I might have uttered a few more unladylike words.

Anyway, retelling is starting to get on my nerves, so I’ll wrap it up. Wrapped my toe. Picked up my small case. Called the insurance company to find a compatible hospital. Called Genie to get directions to said hospital. Got rental car. Drove self there. Got ED MD to look at it. Got shot up with tetanus vaccine and (buffered) lido, and had said right great toe nail removed, trimmed, then shoved back and steristripped into place. Drove to the house, and answered my nephews’ questions about my owie, and bemoaned the non-dancing-ness of the rest of my trip.

Yeah. I was attached to it … but not so much anymore.