pubes and pictures. but not pictures of pubes. because i'm not that desperate.

Staying at a hotel is the shit. Especially if it's one of those fancy shmancy kinds that my husband has grown accustomed to now that his work spoils him silly on business trips. I guess that's the treatment you get when you're the inventor of computers.
Yesterday we drove the kids to Tampa to visit my mom and incredibly old and sweet grandma. The only spare room in the house has a bedroom plucked right from the sixties. Three words: Seafoam satin sheets. Just pulling the bedspread down is enough to make you feel nastay and high all at the same time. Especially with the confetti flower blanket and plastic plants.
So we stayed at a hotel. A nice one. And I had plans to see a show with this awesome chick leaving my husband and heathens kiddos to fend for themselves on Harbor Island.
Before the show, I showered. Because it's not too often I get to hang out with friends and wear a dress and be a lady. And ladies don't smell like chicken noodle soup and diapers.
Hotel showers are hit or miss. Even in the fanciest places you can be surprised by the shower. I've stayed in all sorts of places in New York City (a place my heart pulls me to once a year at least). The Algonquin was a splurge. On my husband's company's dime, of course. And the shower was pristine and surprisingly modern for a 100 year old building.
In more contemporary places I've been grossed out by yellowy shower curtains that are constantly billowing in while I shower and getting stuck to my arms and butt. And there's a pretty good chance I'm going to be standing ankle deep in my chicken soup and diaper water by the time I get to sudsing up my hair with sub-par shampoo or washing my face with a sandpaper washcloth.
But the worst thing about hotel showers is the one stray pubic hair that is inevitably missed by the cleaning crew. If you're lucky enough to see it before you get in the shower, you can do one of three things:
blow it as hard as you can so it goes away
run gallons of water and try swishing it down the drain
pluck it from the tub and flick it into the trashcan
with your FINGERS


All options run their own risks. I've blown a stranger's pube straight into my own face before trying technique number one. And since you can't blow with your mouth closed...you run another risk if you try this method. Use caution.


Swishing it down the drain is somewhat safer. As long as your drain isn't super slow and you keep your hand far enough away from the hair as you swish, you should be okay. I've also swished willy-nilly and minutes later found the hair on my hand. This is disgusting and leads to at least three day wonky-hand.


Picking it up with your fingers and putting it in the trashcan is gross. Nobody would do that. Right?


So on the tile in the bathroom of our fancy shmancy room there WAS a stray pubic hair. It was the first thing I looked for when we got there because I seriously think about these things for days before a trip involving a hotel stay and I have to know what I'm dealing with as soon as possible. The pube on the tile was NOT in the tub, so I just let it stay there. In the corner of the bathroom. And kept tabs on it every time I went in to pee or brush my teeth or check on the pube because I was obsessed but not enough to try blowing it or touching it.


Something GOOD I've noticed about hotel rooms lately is that the nicer ones have gotten wise to the bedspread rumors about {DNA} on the comforters. We all have heard this urban legend icky truth. "Don't sleep with the bedspread on!" "Don't even SIT on it!" Yeah, yeah. They never wash it. I know what people do in hotel rooms. Spare me. I have raised my standards. I now only patronize places with plain white duvet covers and plain white sheets and pillow cases.

i do it for the children, really

and fancy chairs with ottomans

and firm mattresses

You understand.

oh.

and this is for ryan and cole,