Fuzzy Logic

“We need to probably get rid of this suitcase,” he said several weeks ago, coming home from a trip.

The plastic innards had fragmented and were shedding inside, so there was no “probably” about it, but much as I love my husband, making definite statements is not his strong point. “Can’t you ever just say ‘Yes’ or ‘No’?” I ask him in exasperation.

He smiles and says, “Maybe.”

So the suitcase sat in the corner of the living room for a month, because moving it twenty feet to the garage, and then out to the curb would apparently be too much work. It’s not like it’s Samsonite luggage, or anything. It’s cheap canvas stuff from Big Lots, that was supposed to be $40/bag and we got for $10. It has lasted several years, after all.

With Fuzzy away, though, I have to keep busy, tire myself out, so that I sleep without all the normal house sounds spooking me. (The curse of an over-active imagination), so I’ve been cleaning, and that included taking the suitcase out to the garage.

He’s lucky, though.

I took his coat out of it, first.