We're living [almost] in the lap of luxury. King size beds, feather pillows, down comforters; each our own room and bath; a full kitchen, living area. Not opulent, but sturdy and functional.
The biggest plus?
At the snap of my fingers I could cause the hotel management to dispatch personnel in a flash, to distribute and tend to our needs.
We don't do that.
But we could.
But we don't.
Yet, there is no doubt it is nice to return home at the end of a long day to a bed crisply made, and fresh towels in the bath.
Not to mention the dishes done, and room tidied, and vacuum run.
I've not let it go to my head. After all ~ I've passed on service more than once: let the maid have my room taken off her list for free. Everyone likes to be relieved of a duty or two now and again.
Today, I released the maid.
No service, please.
None. Zip. Nada.
The place was well-lived in by days end.
How surprisingly delightful, then, was the moment when ~ without being asked, my son, the actor moved into the kitchen and spruced it up, just as if he were home and had his normal, routine kitchen duty.
Wow. His upbringing really is sticking with him.
How cool. :)