There are no stores in the Netherlands.

Regardless of what logic espouses, my gremlins have convinced me of that.

But this is not merely a belief about Europe. Regardless of my destination, during the week prior to a trip I rush from store to store like a squirrel gathering nuts for a harsh winter, stockpiling personal items as if no shopping opportunities will present themselves during my travels.

Into my suitcase I jam toiletries and new clothing and batteries – because Jay or I will need something that will die while we’re waiting for the plane to leave and I’ve sworn not to buy batteries in the airport because they are five times the normal price.

Tiny packages of toothpaste and shampoo; enough ibuprofen, safety pins and Q-tips to supply a Third World country; boxes of rice cereal and an electric hot pot because I may not be near a stove and I must have my favorite breakfast every morning; tubes of Airborne; a ziplock bag filled with vitamins I have not taken for a year; more underwear than I will wear in twice my trip time; and outfits washed or de-tagged and carefully folded and stacked on the bedroom floor just before my long-haired, white cat lays on them.

All these I cram into a small suitcase because I am efficient.

Inevitably, after purchasing all the mini-toiletries on my list, I remember that I have piles of them from the last dozen trips stashed in my hallway closet. I leave no room for souvenirs though I always get them.

This time, I tell myself, I will not buy anything during my travels.

This time I will need nothing at the airport.

This time I will not forget my earplugs and batteries.

I send the suitcases to baggage once we arrive at the airport. After we get to our gate, I realize the batteries are in the luggage I just checked in. Jay sneaks over and buys some more for me when I’m not looking.

It’s for a medical device that will make my flight immensely more comfortable. I am infuriated at him because I’d rather suffer for 11 hours than pay $13 to change them. He happily spends the money for his own sanity.

My husband also insists on carrying everything that does not fit into my tiny purse, forcing me to be semi-reasonable; he is kind and loving to do so and agrees to carry things he knows I will never use.

Believe it or not, there is grand improvement.

In addition to what I carry on the plane now, I used to bring magazines and my entire summer reading list (none of which I read during the trip) and everything I could possibly fidget with during the flight, driving everyone next to me crazy.

Onto the plane I would limp like Quasimodo, throwing out my back and bumping into fellow travelers who flashed me dirty looks that I deserved.

When I wasn’t traveling, I carried a purse the size of a suitcase with me at all times. Into it I would stash a wallet the size of New Hampshire and anything I or anyone else near me might possibly need – nail files, Super Glue, tweezers, a paring knife, Advil, gum, mints, etc. I would riffle through it constantly.

People I knew caught on and regularly came to me for emergency assistance, and I felt even more compelled to continue carrying my enormous first-aid kit. Jay weighed my purse one time to make a point; it weighed 12 pounds.

One day my friend Dana gently said, “Boy, you seem to be carrying around a lot of baggage.” Hearing that all the way down to my toes, the 25-year compulsion lifted and the purse shrank.

One day earlier this week, while at LAX, I urgently needed a safety pin. Running up to the kiosk next to our gate, I looked for them among the hanging packages, but found none.

“Aha!” my gremlins shouted in unison. “See? You should have carried your big purse.”

Just as the rant commenced, a woman stopped me.

“Did I hear you say you needed a safety pin?” she asked.

Startled by the kindness, I said yes. We walked to a chair and she pulled out her 12-pound purse and rummaged through it until she found a package.

“What size would you like?” she asked, handing me two. After I’d gushed over her, she rolled away like a fairy godmother.

Baggage karma. You never know when it will come back around.

Adell Shay’s column appears each Saturday. She can be reached by e-mail at gorilladance@roadrunner.com or by mail at the Daily Breeze, 21250 Hawthorne Blvd., Suite 170, Torrance, CA 90503.