This hotel is ridic

I rolled up like a bull wearing spandex, flannel, and tennis shoes with rat’s nest hair to a china shop that is ostensibly a very nice hotel, but I’m pretty sure is actually Downton Abbey. I think I scared everyone there just by being myself. As one of the bell boys escorted me up to my room, he asked me how my day was going, and I answered in what is, for me, a very normal way–I said, “ehhhh, ughhhh, I’m… I’m just… [big sigh]… How are you?” He looked very disturbed, and, needless to say, the rest of my attempts at small talk with him floundered miserably. Actually, the more I think about it, the more I’m confident that he was not a bell boy, but in fact a security guard, because when I hurricane-d into the place, they clearly were like, “who is this what is she doing here make sure she doesn’t try to steal the decorative orchids or extra toiletries from the housekeeping cart.”

I appreciate nice things, but I’m not comfortable being waited on and, let’s face it, don’t belong in formal situations. I’m more comfortable hanging out with “the staff” than being served by them. I made BFFs with one of the maids, Eveline–her 13-yr-old daughter doesn’t think she should have to clean her own room because she’s a kid, but Eveline told her, “no, you’re not a kid anymore,” and I was like, “it’s good you’re preparing her for adulthood because real life is harrrrrd,” and we discussed how expensive college is (she and her husband have started saving for both their daughter’s and 8-yr-old-son’s college funds), as well as the recent plane crash in the French Alps, and she generously gave me lots of cookies.

Below are some photos from this beautiful place I will never belong:

Sometimes walking to the bathroom is just so exhausting that you need a chaise lounge to collapse on immediately upon entering and a wall of shadowed cameo profile portraits to soothe your eyes. And it’s always nice to have a bathroom you can use as a bowling alley.