Saturday, April 12, 2008
Ignorance is Bliss!
Years ago when our kids were little, a night away at a hotel was a real treat. We didn't stay in many growing up, because really, who in their right mind would stay in a hotel with six kids? When DH and I married, we checked in, now and then, usually while crossing the country to see family, and it was something I really looked forward to. I got a kick out of the little coffee pot, the hair dryer hooked to the wall, cups with little covers on them, fancy schmancy Window Treatments (where at home we had curtains), and the toilet paper was folded into points so you'd know they'd freshened up the potty.

Not everywhere we've stayed has been great - there have been some real loo-loos in our hotel past. We've been eaten alive by fleas, had drunk people next door scream at us through the walls, slept in water beds that rocked so hard I literally woke up with bruises on my hip bones. That's back when my hip bones were somewhat more protruded, so I'm not thinking that's going to happen again anytime soon - I've covered them with a bit more padding for protection. We've stayed at places with red velvet curtains (not window treatments) (never a good thing!), places where we literally all slept in our clothes for four hours and then hit the road again because it was just too yucky, but at 4 am in the middle of Kansas you can't be real choosy. Come to think of it, most of those awful places were in the middle of Kansas. Not sure what Dorothy was thinking there, 'there's no place like home!'

This weekend, we're heading out to Virginia for a quick overnight trip, to accept an award for DH's company, and they are putting us up at a hotel, wining and dining us, then the next morning we'll have breakfast out, and make the seven hour drive back home. It sounds like a nice get-away to me.

I'm not very germ conscious, so it came as a surprise to me the last time I was with girlfriends. We got on the subject of hotels and they started telling me they take T-shirts from home to put over the pillowcases, they wear socks so their bare feet don't touch the floor. One of them, honest to pete, cleans the hotel bathroom with a traveling cleaning kit she carries. Are you kidding? I barely clean my own. Part of the purpose of leaving is to go somewhere it's not my job to clean a single thing. They started telling me horror stories of why they don't drink out of the glasses, because you know someone might have just popped a new paper cover on it and not washed it. On and on and on. That there might accidentally be a hair in the bathtub sent them all over the edge. (Note to self: double check for bathtub hairs before next guests arrive, so they don't run screaming out the front door...). Seriously, the odds are that some are just hairs off my head of wavy hair... I swear I shed more than the dogs.

Much like reading your teenage daughter's diary, sometimes too much information is just that - better not to know. I was excited about our little trip, but can't a girl just go stay in a hotel, drink a diet coke over ice while sitting up in bed watching cable TV, and not hear the horror stories of that special on whatever channel it was, about all the creepy germs that show up when you shine that funky light on the bed? Please don't start describing to me why you don't ever touch a hotel bedspread. Or blanket. I have no intention of shining any lights on the bed.

Really, I'd like to just go back to the days when I walked through the hotel door, delighted to be there, use up all the little shampoo and conditioner bottles, check out what is on HBO, and start looking for the ice machine, somewhere down the hall. Reality checks - over-rated!


  posted at 8:00 AM

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    Girl Raised in the South

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