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The Hotel: New York

April 24, 2010

 

Tom made the trip reservations.  In fact, Tom took care of pretty much everything:  the airline tickets, the hotel, the restaurants, the Broadway tickets.  Tom got us every place we wanted to go, on time, and happy. 

It. Was. Awesome. 

I highly recommend traveling with Tom.

After Tom made the reservations, he called me with the details.  He was somewhat apologetic about the sleeping arrangements–Christy and I would have to share a double bed for the weekend.  No big deal, I thought.  Christy and I have slept together before.

We stayed at The Wellington Hotel (871 7th Avenue) in midtown Manhattan.

Because I like you, I’m going to go ahead and give you a tip: if you ever stay at the Wellington Hotel, make your cab driver drop you off in front of the hotel.  Do NOT attempt to move yourself and your luggage through the teeny-tiny revolving door on the side of the building.  For a few very tense minutes, I was convinced my luggage was going to be permanently wedged in that door.   It took three of us (pushing and pulling) to get that suitcase dislodged.  

It was kind of a shaky start.

Undeterred, we soldiered on.  We took the elevator up to the 8th floor and opened the door.

The first thing that went through my head?

Work with me here: 

 You know that movie Fred Claus, the one where Vince Vaughn finds out his brother is Santa Claus and spends the night on the top of the elf’s bunk bed and his legs and feet and arms are all spilling out over the edges of the bed?

Yup.

That’s about how big the bed looked.  It was tiny.  Bigger than a twin, but not much.  I’d call it a “twin-ette.”

Here’s the part where I share more personal info than you probably ever wanted:  I can’t sleep if someone is touching me. Seriously.  No touching allowed.  None.  Oh, I’m all for snuggling right up until it’s time for sleep.  Then everyone needs to keep to their own side until the morning. 

I took one look at our “twin-ette,” and immediately went into panic mode.

I tried to cover the panicked look in my eyes. 

I failed. 

Christy took one look at me.  One look at the twin-ette.  One look back at me.

“This should be fun,” she said.

We stayed positive, though.  We headed out to Times Square, dinner and Hair.  

By the time we returned to the room, I was dead on my feet. 

Unfortunately, the bed didn’t look any bigger than I remembered.

I brushed my teeth and settled in for the night.

And then something magical happened.

Sleep.

Lots of it.

I woke up in the morning and peeked over at Christy.  I don’t think she moved the entire night.  I stretched my arm out and realized there was a good 7-8 inches between us, not even being used!  We could have invited someone to join us, for Pete’s sake!

Why that bed made me feel positively tiny!

There was only one plausible explanation:  

It was a New York miracle! 

And it didn’t just happen that first night;  I never, ever felt Christy so much as move the entire weekend. 

It was awesome!

At breakfast Monday morning, (back at Benash–I ordered a mushroom omelette and skipped the potatoes), we discussed the New York miracle. 

The waiter stepped up to our table just as I was saying,

“I HIGHLY recommend sleeping with Christy!  Four stars!  Best I’ve ever slept with!”

Needless-to-say, he was a little rattled. 

It was hilarious. 

As we were leaving, he asked Christy for her number.

It was the perfect end to a perfect weekend.

XO,

Vicki

PS Just kidding.  He didn’t ask for her number.  But he wanted to, I just know it.  : )

Bed picture from (here).

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One Comment leave one →
  1. sister friend permalink
    May 5, 2010 7:20 pm

    hilarious! and oh so true. i am reading these again and they have brought me so much joy. thank you for your words they are just the best!

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