Traveling with women a heavy load
By HARRISON HEYL

I’ve decided I’m going to start imposing a weight limit on my girlfriend’s luggage. Guys know what I’m talking about because normally — normally — we’re the physically stronger of the sexes, and nine times out of 10 we have to carry the heaviest luggage. I’m not saying men are better than women; in fact, quite the opposite: men are nothing more than glorified pack mules. I’ve learned this by hauling around my girlfriend’s over-packed luggage for many years.

One time when we were traveling in France, the dollar was really strong and you could get a lot of francs or beans or whatever the currency was over there before they switched to Euros. Anyway, there were a lot of bargains to be had, and Jen decided she needed to take advantage of the situation by purchasing the entire gross national product of France while we were there.

Normally, you would want to transport this volume of goods back to the United States in a large number of those enormous cargo containers, the kind they stack by the hundreds on the decks of ocean-going container ships. Jen apparently felt more comfortable having me tote these things in our duffel bags instead.

So that’s what we did. She purchased the entire GNP of France and she had me lug these things in our bags down five flights of stairs, several blocks to the metro, on trains, planes and automobiles all the way home.

Among the many items she purchased was Le Creuset cookware. If you’re familiar with this cookware you know that it’s excellent cookware made of cast iron that is heavier and denser than an actual black hole. It has its own gravitational field, not even light can escape this cookware. In fact, we haven’t seen the cookware, we just know it’s there by observing the effect its gravitational field has on planets and other celestial bodies.

Jen also insisted on bringing back the salesman who sold her the cookware so if she had any questions she could refer them directly to him. So we popped him in the Le Creuset pot and packed him up in our bags with everything else. Luckily the French are a relatively small people, and he made it through Customs OK.

But I had to carry the luggage. That is the point I am trying to make to you today. Guys all over the world are carrying luggage that has been over-packed by women, and this has got to stop. This forced indenture is ruining our health, breaking down our bodies and our minds until our spirits are spent corpses.

Here is a handy rule of thumb to consider: if your baggage cannot be transported comfortably by a team of Nepalese sherpa porters, it’s not fair to ask your boyfriend, husband, son, nephew, brother, uncle or any other male to haul this baggage.

If you insist on packing that much stuff, please, contract out with a team of Nepalese sherpa porters, not me, one out-of-shape, skinny white guy living at sea level who is unaccustomed to lifting anything heavier than his Superfriends lunch pail.

I always have to remind Jen, “Yes, they’re going to have furniture where we’re going. Yes, sofas, too. Now get this out of here.”

I don’t know why we can’t just buy suitcases with wheels. Everyone else is doing it. I see them moving about comfortably through airport terminals and train stations. The problem is, we will do anything to save a buck on travel. We will buy luggage without wheels, we will strap ourselves to wooden pallets and cast ourselves adrift on high seas hoping to land at a vacation destination like Cuba or Fiji — anything to save a buck.

You can see why I don’t like to travel anymore. I don’t even like to leave the house. Just keep me confined in a pen like veal, I’m happy. Lock me up, give me my meds, don’t leave any sharp objects around, and I’m fine. I really am.

Harrison Heyl is a free-lance writer and UCSB graduate. When we last heard from him, he was bedeviling his neighbors with wind chimes.