Hotel Living Is No Joke


Did ever tell you that we live in a hotel? Truth. Which on the surface is amazing (Room service! Pools! An in house gym! Never ending clean sheets! Never having to scrub a toilet!)


But there's also a side of hotel living that you may have never considered. So, now, without further ado, let me recount all of the woes and hardships that I face because my life is really so difficult and you should probably feel very sorry for me.


Reasons Why Hotel Living Is Significantly Less Awesome Than You'd Think


You can't dress like a hobo. I have a soft spot for messy hair, day-old make up, and cut off jeans. All are total a no-gos when you live in a fancy hotel. You have to dress like a grown-up and stuff. Blech.  Also, woe.



My child now believes that eating a pain au chocolate every day for breakfast is normal, and like totally acceptable. They're there, every morning, on the buffet. She knows. I am rendered completely impotent in my quest to ensure that healthy food choices are easy to make. I can't be all, ooooohhhh, sorry kiddo, we don't have any pain au chocolate / ice cream / chips / pizza. Because she knows I'm full of it. And she knows if she blinks her eyes, the waitresses will take away her fruit plate and bring her a delicious pastry. And a hot chocolate.  And an extra scoop of ice cream. With sprinkles. And candy. How can one be an effective parent under these conditions??


The aforementioned junk food buffet is also problematic because I can't let good ice cream go to waste when there are starving children, and dammit, hello five new pounds. 



Your child comes up with charming utterances which she shares with strangers. My favorite is "Man! Mama's bed! Man! In Mama's bed!" (re. the housekeeping staff who was making the bed.)


You live in fear of hearing the following words from your momentarily pantless child: Sorry Mama poop"", and then cringe because hotel carpeting. OMG.


And then there's post-bedtime-take-off-your-pants-and-lounge-in-your-undies  time, so you open a celebratory beer, and step into the powder room to freshen up. Which is exactly the moment when you hear the doorbell ring, and try to dash back to the bedroom where you pants are lying, haphazardly on the bed, but the door opens and there's housekeeping in your room. So you pray, paralyzed with fear, that no one will discover your hideout in the bathroom, which is unlikely considering you left the door wide open.  But you're sure the housekeeper is in the other room, and it's safe to sprint to the bedroom. 


You go for it. 


And come face to face with  the housekeeper. The housekeeper dude. And you have no pants on.  




So, yeah, other than that, living in a hotel is totes rad. When you're two.