Staci made me go to a Bed and Breakfast.
For those of you who think a Bed and Breakfast is a quaint little 19th century abode where you drink lemonade on the veranda, let me give you a more apt description of what it is:
Some shithead’s house.
If you want to know what the experience is like but perhaps can’t afford it, just walk across the street to your neighbor’s house, hand him $300 and sleep in one of his spare bedrooms.
If that isn’t evocative enough for you, consider this: You share a bathroom.
I don’t know about you, but I don’t want my vacations filled with this thought: Did the fat guy across the hall wipe the toilet seat?
And none of this had to happen.
You see, Staci handed me the brochure for this place. I scanned it with a skeptical eye, aware of Stephan’s Law of Hotel, Motel, and Bed and Breakfast Brochures, which is this: Resorts are only 18% as good as the photos.
And that’s where we ran into our first problem with the Bed and Breakfast depicted in this brochure:
It looked like crap.
The Law of Hotel, Motel and Bed and Breakfast Brochures is not kind in these situations. For it tells you the following:
We went anyways. I can’t really explain that, except for the fact that Staci insisted on it. I’m starting to think she’s writing a book on me, and just needs experiences to provide material.
Whenever I brought up the pitfalls, she always said the same thing: “It will be really different.”
For those of you who think “different” is a neutral word evoking romantic adventure, let me say this: You’re not smart.
“Different” is spouse-code for “bad.” And “really different” translates to the type of adventure enjoyed by the men in “Deliverance.”
Which is why when we were driving up the hill to Staci’s choice of vacation destinations I began whistling the “Dueling Banjos” theme.
Staci didn’t appreciate that. But I didn’t care. Because on the drive up the hill, she ran afoul of yet another rule: Stephan’s Law of $300 A Night Lodging.
Stephan’s Law of $300 A Night Lodging says this:
When you pay $300 a night to stay somewhere, you’ve earned a road.
And by “road”, I don’t mean a ten-foot wide chunk of dirt sloped to send you to your death. Because if there’s one thing that’s sure to draw a low rating from me on Travelocity, it’s my own death.
All we needed was a little rain to turn that slope to unstable mud and you’d be reading “Classic Pearls Before Swine.”
Little did I know the road would not kill me. No, this Bed and Breakfast would spare me that. For it had a death in store for me that was slower and more painful.
And best of all, more creative.
Which is what you’d expect when you’re paying $300 a night.
That story to come.