I’m not sure any of you have seen one of these before, but let’s try it on for size, shall we?
Yes! Indeed! It is what you suspect: that rare, elusive thing called a “hotel room all to oneself.” It has the usual suspects: a bed, a chair, a desk, a bathroom. But do you know what it doesn’t have? A KID.
In what was a spur-of-the-moment decision (I’d go so far as to call it rash, but that seems rather reckless for a woman who most recently blogged about both thumbsucking and the woes of dental insurance), I booked myself a room at a hotel very close to this blogging conference I’m attending tomorrow.
I am currently sitting in the room, luxuriating in the alone-ness. I’d be tempted to say it’s downright peaceful, but the guy in the next room just yelled “AAAAH, OH YEAH, AAAAH,” so that kind of ratcheted down the peace quotient. But it’s nice to know he’s enjoying his quiet time, too. (Note: Have called front desk. Now known as The Woman on the Eleventh Floor Who Reports Masturbators.)
Anyway, look what else is here! (Regard this atypical exclamation mark usage! It’s as if I’m drunk on the mini bar, which I AM TOTALLY NOT.)
A wee card on the robe explaining that a “smaller size may be available upon request,” something that now makes me doubt my own idea of small and how small I am not and OH MY GOD I AM GOING TO BE THE FATTEST ONE AT THE CONFERENCE.
The typical, exorbitantly overpriced room-service menu, in which I can only assume that the breakfast for those with the “westin lifestyle” is also known as the Breakfast for Suckers Big and Small. Then again, there is registered trademark Yoplait. So that says something.
Off to lie in the bed and listen to what quiet actually sounds like. I might also call for more towels. JUST BECAUSE I CAN.