Scott and I spent the weekend living it up, fancy-style, as befits our 11-years-married status. (We were dating for four years before that. 15 years! I was dating my now-husband when some of you all were wearing short pants!) As I mentioned previously, I got us a room at the Ritz-Carlton for his 40th birthday, but scheduled it for our anniversary. See what I did, there? It’s a present for him that is also for me. Thus sparing him the need to buy me an anniversary gift. I am a giver!
When we checked in, the, uh, check-in guy informed us that, due to its being our anniversary and all (you bet your sweet patoot I told them when I reserved the room), we were being upgraded to a suite. My first thought was that I had already reserved a suite, but nice attempt to impress us, Ritz-Carlton. But then, in order that we may understand the true import of this upgrade, he confided that the suite we had been upgraded to normally costs about two grand a night.
I had reserved one of the lowest-tier suites, and the only reason I even bothered with the whole “suite” idea is because in these parts, hotels, even the glamorous ones, often have alarmingly teeny rooms. I figured if I got a suite, we could at least be sure that when we took a shower, the bed wouldn’t get wet. I didn’t really think we needed a galley, full living room, office, and dining/conference area. But we got it, and my god, we were going to use it.
Here’s Scott conducting a meeting.
Good point. Exactly.
Really? Are you clowns serious?
Hang on-- he has to take this.
NO! DAMN it!
OH, FOR THE LOVE OF—
HA! Good one, Johnson! (Johnson can always calm him down.)
At the end of a long day, nothing like a little telescope action to unwind.
Aw, Christ. What’s the point. What’s the goddamned point.
We did that for quite a while.
Then someone actually called on the actual phone; we missed it, because by then we were busy taking turns on the Toto Washlet. (Now, you may ask: does one need a warmed toilet seat that oscillates and/or pulsates and can direct jets of water and puffs of drying air to your various toilet-related areas? Turns out, yes.)
While we tried to figure out the voice mail, Scott excitedly called out “Maybe it’s something free!” and I observed that we were letting this enormous room go to our heads, with the crazy thought that more free things would simply be brought up to us. And then I listened to the message, which was that more free things were being brought up to us.
It turned out to be a complicated structure made entirely of chocolate-covered strawberries, and before the door was even closed we had crammed most of them into our mouths. I decided we should call room service and say “We eated the chocolates and they hurt our insides and now we need more chocolates.” And then answer the door with our mouths smeared with chocolate. Because the great thing is, you know they’d all just smile and agree to our insane requests! Yes yes and more yes! Fancy places put up with lunatics, and that’s what makes them fun!
I also wanted to call the concierge and ask to have our view changed (not our room—just our view) but Scott felt that both my ideas were strange and unnecessary. While I maintained that concierges enjoy a challenge. It’s this kind of conflict that keeps the marriage lively.
Then we went back to using the Washlet for a few hours. And not that I’m complaining, fancy hotel, but we couldn’t get two of those? You know what it’s like waiting for some refreshing bottom-cleansing? Wondering if you should oscillate or pulsate or both? What, was I supposed to use the other non-warmed seat, like some kind of primitive?
It was pretty fun.