Where oh where has my little bag gone?

I’d love to tell you a little bit about my favorite suitcase. It’s a red, expandable carry-on piece made by, er, Protege, I believe.

It’s 21 inches tall and about 9 inches deep — um, I think.

It has those handy-dandy, deep, stretchy pockets and foldaway zipper compartments that are perfect for storing toiletries, shoes, workout gear, etc. I think there are like, four or five, all told? Hmm, I’m not positive, but then again, I’m going from memory, TBH.

We’ll get back to that momentarily.

It’s just the right size. Not so big that you’ve got to check it when travelling by airplane and not so small that you can’t cram it to the gills with everything from make-up remover wipes to sundresses to your son’s overflow hoodie, you dig?

It’s the perfect Goldilocks dimension for shoving into the backseat of a car, the stowaway slot of a mini-SUV, or a regular old sedan trunk, if you’re journeying by motor vehicle. It’ll even plop right into a bus or tram’s open space or in an Uber… well, whatever available spot there might be in an Uber.

It has this extra little zipper thingy that lets you maximize said cramming. It goes around the entire bag perimeter. Maybe. I’m trying to picture it in my head.

I know for certain it’s got a telescopic handle. That part I distinctly recall because I remember thinking, when I read that feature when Kerry surprised me with it for our 1998 cruise vacation, that it made me sound a little like Italian explorer Amerigo Vespucci — one of my people and America’s namesake, BT dubs. Totally had it all over Christopher Columbus, just sayin’. I digress.

Look, it’s not some fancy, schmancy, tortoise-shell number that can withstand sustained winds of a billion and four miles per hour. It doesn’t have a built-in USB port for charging a smart phone or an electronic window that tells the date, time and temperature of its place of current occupancy. #TooMuchTechnologyIsBoastful

It’s a little worn around the edges, with fiber tears from the Florida meltdown debacle of 2002 (when toddler Kyle vomited all over it and his grandparents’ then-new mini-van) and a tiny orange spot from the accidental de-icer overspray on our way to Key West last spring. #HappyMemories

It’s perfectly broken in and, other than my two boys, is my favorite travelling companion.

So, why am I having to rack my noggin for details about the magic-carpet like trunk that’s kept many prized PK possessions protected through more blue skies and turbulence (literally and philosophically) in the past two decades than some significant others do in a lifetime? #SadButTrue

The ugly fact is, as much as I love this old bag ‘o mine, I — GULP — forgot it in the hotel closet last weekend after Kyle’s last swim meet.

Is that any way to treat the trunk that’s kept me safe and dry (at least in one sense) over so many years’ worth of adventures.

Bad Patty.

This on the heels of leaving it all by its lonesome at home last summer when we first dropped Kyle off at college.

Not so bright, Patty. #Had ToBuyNewEverything #NYIs Expensive

I’m seeing a pattern, in my defense. Denial about separation anxiety, perhaps? Then again, it could just be my 50-year-old memory is in worse shape than that bag, capisce?

Ah well, we’ll be reunited soon and I promise to take better care of that dear… um, what was I talking about again?

Kimerer is a Tribune Chronicle columnist with a suitcase sharper than her short-term recall. Remember to visit her blog www.patriciakimerer.com


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