I realize that my last post was travel-themed.  However given that it is Labor Day Weekend, a notoriously busy traveling weekend, I’d like to offer a few more thoughts to my fellow travelers.  Specifically, to my fellow male travelers:

Help me with my freaking bags, you useless, inconsiderate, pathetic excuses for men.

Seriously – I have not once been helped with my carry on luggage in the past six months.  It’s as if pregnancy is an excuse for men not to assist me.  When did this happen?  When did it become socially acceptable for an able-bodied man to stand idly by and watch a lady struggle to lift her luggage?

Once young, strong and not-pregnant, I could handle all this by myself; these days I'd appreciate a little help.

Within the past year, I’ve flown to Orange County, Los Angeles and San Francisco more times than I care to count.  I’ve flown to Asia and Europe.  I’ve also flown to a variety of other cities including Las Vegas, Indianapolis and New York, among others.  While on a couple of these flights I have been accompanied by my husband – who is a true gentleman and always carries my luggage and sometimes even my purse (but only when my back is really, really aching) – most of the time I am flying solo.

Let’s examine the flights to San Francisco.  Do you think anyone ever helps me on those flights?  Ha!  Everyone on the San Fran flights is either high or a hipster.  This is what I have to say to all you skinny hipster “men”: I don’t care if your jeans are tighter than mine.  I don’t care if I can beat you in a push-up contest.  Summon whatever ounce of manliness you possess buried in the depths of your souls and pick up my bags for me.  I promise I won’t tell anyone.

How about the flights to Europe?  Any assistance then?  Nope!  To the European men: I’ve been on your continent enough to know you have no problem inappropriately cat calling me or grabbing my ass.  Whatever.  I can deal.  But in return I ask that you please store my luggage in the overhead compartment.  Thank you.

As for the Orange County travelers:  Your Wall Street Journal and non-fat latte will still be waiting for you in the 30 seconds it would take to prevent the pregnant woman from straining herself by lifting the suitcase filled with 30 pounds worth of shoes.  Or more recently, baby clothing and accessories.

My disgust is not limited to the inside of the airplane (of course it’s not) – the baggage carousel is a whole other issue.  Now I am no damsel in distress.  And to be fair, I have only recently begun to look “pregnant”, so perhaps it did not occur to any of these chaps that I might need a little aid.  And hey, maybe my carry-ons don’t look all that burdensome to the naked eye.  But there is no questioning a 25-inch suitcase bursting at the seams is not an appropriate piece of luggage for a pregnant lady to be hoisting off the baggage carousel.

Just two nights ago in baggage claim, I positioned myself directly to the left of a dad standing with his daughter, thinking, “This is my guy.  He’ll give me hand.  He’s got to set a good example for his little girl”.  I can’t begin to describe the depths of my disappointment in mankind as I yanked off my bags (yes, there were two!) all by my lonesome.

It wasn’t until I shuffled into my hotel, lugging my two enormous suitcases behind me, that I got my first offer of assistance.  “Can I help you with your bags?”  Ah! Such simple yet uplifting words.  Hope sprang up inside me – chivalry isn’t dead!  Then I realized it was the concierge and he gets paid to ask that question.  But at this point, I’ll take what I can get.  And I plan on taking my husband on a lot more trips with me.