At some point over the midwest my bags evidently divorced me and moved to Denver.
I'm flying back from Denver tonight. Shall I look for them?
They turned up eventually. It was AA. Believe me, my bags have travelled far further than I have. If they ran space missions, there'd be bags on Mars by now, even if they hadn't got further than the moon. Anyway I had to do that horrible wait for the carousel to empty, like the worst episode ever of the Generation Game, and then the forlorn search around the baggage hall before finally dragging myself to the counter.
What does your luggage look like? asks the career grumponaut behind it. Luggage. It looks like all luggage. Fortunately, as a seasoned traveller, I always have emergency pants ready to deploy.
On the plus side this was the same trip where I misread the meeting agenda and inadvertently booked myself in a luxury spa hotel for two days more than I needed to. Also the same trip where I went on a mountain bike-in-the-desert thing and there was a British expat girl as part of our group. As she seemed a bit unfamiliar with a bike I advised her that the brakes were on the wrong sides and she sneeringly exclaimed that 'of course, I know that, I've lived here ten years' before riding straight into the side of the bus and making a dent with her big stupid head.