...I might have left a little maribou in cheap hotel rooms, here and there.
Now, we've left a little cheap maribou in an expensive motel room.
Only it's not from a naughty nightie from Frederick's this time, it's from a cheesy pink glittery feather boa whose owner wailed for a good fifteen minutes in the car on the way home about how the sparkly bits have all come out. She was sometimes being a raccoon princess wearing it, and she sometimes used the boa as a nest to keep her Lady and the Tramp stuffed animals warm. She, meaning, not me. She is three and a half, and gets more mileage out of a trampy accessory like that than I ever did.
And the hotel room was a pricey Holiday Inn in some boring Pennsylvania town, and we stayed there after a long and winding drive in the dark through the mountains, because there are no longer many charming roadside motels these days, as we found out; and toddlers like swimming pools and we like fluffy pillows and clean showers and a coffee pot in the room even if we don't want to use the crappy Folger's pods provided and so brought our own favourite brand, which meant that once I was considering using a panty liner wrapper for a filter since I couldn't even find a napkin.
Vacations aren't like they used to be. Now, this past one is all over with except for the unpacking. And the unpacking, and the unpacking. And now I'm off to go grocery shopping, as all the dog has had to eat today is peanut butter and crackers and we need a new brush for scrubbing the dishes. My sunburn is peeling so badly, and I'm so very itchy from it that I had to use the old one to slough off some of the skin between my shoulder blades that I couldn't reach to peel.
