I love hotels. Morgan, a good friend of mine is so disgusted by hotels that she won’t even take her shoes off, and she brings her own sheets!! But I can’t get ENOUGH of them!!! I just walked into a hotel (after watching 2 hours of Lost in the car); we’re in Tupelo, MS getting ready to do a show tonight, and we stopped in at the hotel first. And my heart just exploded because I had an overwhelming moment of gratitude. Well, it’s always good to write those down, right? So, here are the things, in no particular order, that I love about hotels:
The blackout shades: you could sleep until 2 p.m. and not even know it.
There are more than five channels and they’re all CLEAR. And the remote works.
The beds are made.
The feeling of vacation, because when you were young, hotels always meant vacation, which, for me, meant Disneyworld or Branson.
You can crank the a.c. or heater and you don’t have to worry about an electric bill.
My friend Whit once pointed out the brilliance of hotel showers, the curved rod at the top and the high water pressure.
The mirror next to the TV is ALWAYS a slimming mirror. Ladies, do your makeup there!
The window: which means a fresh perspective, even if that’s only a fresh perspective of the highway…it’s different from what you normally see, right? That’s song material.
Usually you get to a hotel after a long drive so a good stretch on the bed is wonderful.
My mom used to “christen” the hotel beds by laying on her back with her feet and arms in the air and making herself bounce, which was hilarious, but we always do it.
Of course there are the negatives:
I know I know, the bedspread never gets washed, who knows who was here before me, there’s always the temptation of porn late at night (which I will admit is not a struggle of mine, though you always hear in youth group how tempting it is), the drinking glasses only get wiped down and not soaked or scrubbed, and I always wonder if, while I’m changing or something, there’s a peephole that some pervert is watching me through. But why focus on the negative (and scary) when, as an adult, SOMEONE MAKES YOUR BED!!! AND RESTOCKS YOUR SHAMPOOS!!!
Life is incredibly mundane, people. I can only be thankful for what I have, and be a good steward of my thankfulness. So as I sit here for a few moments in the Wingate in cute little Tupelo, I will deny the possibility of nasty little scabies (which my hypochondriac mother taught me about) and filthy bedspreads, peeping toms and e-coli-infested drinking glasses. Maybe the maids don’t even LIKE my cheap jewelry. Instead of freaking, I will go christen the beds, make some coffee, and kick my shoes off for a little afternoon of cable. Little pleasures. Like Deb Talan of The Weepies says,
Can I get up in the morning, put the kettle on
Make us some coffee, say hey to the sun
Is it enough to write a song and sing it to the birds
When they hear just a tone and not understand my love for words
But you will hear me and know
I want to live this
I want to live a
I want to live a simple life.