Maybe it's because I'm female and females tend to worry about these "details" more than men. My first year teaching, I had long hair and lice. Twice. Enough said, right? No amount of this,
would be worth it if I picked up a few of these.
So, armed with my trusty Eveready flashlight, I would Nancy Drew it through my accomodations before any item of anything vacated the rental car. And not just the mattress and box springs. We're talking full-on combat mode on computer chairs, sofas, drapes, carpets. So where, you might ask, was the romance of rushing the window to feast my eyes upon breathtaking views of the rugged Atlantic coast or the splendor of the leaves I managed to nail at peak-change? Where was the romance of taking in antiques from an 18th century attic room and feeling, for that first moment, like I've stepped back in time?
Sadly, I suppose, that romance came upon clean inspection. Oh, Holiday Inn Express room 323, how I love thee bleach-white sheets and the fact that you've only just opened a few weeks ago. I will pledge my undying devotion if you tell me you've slept with only me thus far.
I'm not really a TripAdvisor kind of ranter, but one place passed muster only to have me stressed out the entire night. Not sure I slept at all. It simply seemed as though it would have bedbugs. I watched Joaquin Phoenix's Two Lovers twice that night. I found myself wishing I was in Brooklyn only to realize Brooklyn has bedbugs, too. My email inbox begged the question: Would you recommend this hotel? Hell to the no. And beyond.
I did eventually capture romance in my New England accomodations: my happily-ever-after ending when I returned home without any unwanted travelers.
Tomorrow: Romancing Hawthorne, or How to Gag Your Non-Writer Companion on All Things Writerly