Dashed hopes

Another mother saga. Although I'm actually finding this one quite amusing for once.

Mother wants a new suitcase. On the (rare) occasions that I manage to persuade her onto a train to head darn sarf to Yorkshire, she complains that her existing case is too unwieldy to use on the train. She can't get it into the overhead rack without asking for help (which begs the question, why not ask for help, but that's another story), it's too heavy and really it's more suitcase than she needs for her purpose. I offered to loan her my spotty Cath Kidston case which is small enough to be considered hand luggage on most flights, but that was deemed too heavy and still too big. The Man I Married offered her the use of one of his wheeled computer bag things. Too heavy. I offered her Kid At the Top of the Heap's "sleepover" suitcase. Still too big. Over the summer we looked at suitcases in Asda. Little ones. Too expensive. (?)

So. Last week I was in Dunelm mill. And they had some luggage in the sale. And in amongst all the family size suitcases was one, bright lime green, tiny, tiny little suitcase, with telescopic handle and wheels with the words "Superlight" emblazoned across the label. Great thought I, and bought it, having checked the returns policy first. Just in case this minute, superlight little pocket of air was in too bright a colour for her sensitive eyes or summat.

I phone Mother and tell her the good news. Tiny suitcase. About big enough for Kid at the Bottom's pyjamas, a teddy bear, a couple of comics and a toothbrush. Any smaller and it would be a clutch bag. And "super light" - it even says so on the tin.

"How much does it weigh exactly then?" she asks, dubiously.
"2.6kg" I tell her jubilantly.
"2.6kg? Empty? That's over five and half pounds. It's a bit heavy."

My make up bag weighs more. She doesn't want a suitcase. She wants a plastic bag.