You can’t see me, but I’m cringing.
It’s about the sleeping accommodations, at the Alamo.
I booked on a ‘great deal’ website and got a great price, I’m happy; rather I was.
My call today, to confirm the accommodation, sent shivers of horror down my spine. “Huh? A double bed? Aren’t there two in the room?”
I clutch myself together and grasp for straws; “Any way I can change to any solution that gets me two beds? Like a roll-away cot, pull out couch, two queens?”
“No Ma’am, we’re fully booked with all bed options also fully booked.”
I’m numb as I hang up. He’s delightful company, but he’s also smelly, noisy and leaky.
Smelly, for 2 nights, I was prepared for that.
Noisy, for 2 nights, yeah, for that too.
But not leaky, no way, there’s just NO WAY I’m sharing a double bed with him.
Yet I know, my gorgeous Nephew is laughing with gut splitting, muscle aching, tear inducing guffaws. Quite justified, as he was the only one with enough courage to spend 3 weeks with Banana-man reliving his WWII Tour of Duty through Europe, with their itty-bitty, 30-year-old-single-beds, no-bathrooms-on-this-floor, smoke-stenched rooms. Yeah, he’s laughing…