That's my excuse. And you can't talk me out of it.
Twenty-three years into our marriage, Mister and I are still raising one of our children. Our house (because, unlike my parents, we have moved a couple times) isn't quite paid for yet. I only work part time and my sweet hubby has that issue with being unable to pass his company's physical standards (which are tougher than the standards for FIREMEN) so he isn't going back to work any time soon. Hence the strict budget we live on.
So when it came time to make plans for our wonderful little sojourn to Sin City, money (more accurately, the everlasting shortfall of it) was the definitive factor in where we stayed.
Hubby did all the planning while I was at work. This was no small source of frustration to him. A bogus companion airfare voucher sent to us by our airline mileage plan (followed by a We're-Sorry-For-Any-Inconvenience-However-We-Were-Just-Teasing-You-With-That-Voucher-And-Now-We're-Revoking-It letter) wasted hours of his research and patience.
By the time he finally got a package scabbed together, it came down to two choices of hotel accommodations--both at the same price:
Exhausted and no longer able to care, Hubby made the wrong choice.
Before we left, I tried to do a little research on the hotel. Specifically, I wanted to know what amenities it offered. Nowhere on its webpage could I find any information as to comforts.
It took only two steps beyond the threshold of our room to figure out why the website didn't list any amenities: there aren't any. I don't mean that there isn't a hotel spa, or a pool, or even a coffee pot in the room. I mean there were no towels. Seriously. And, judging by the trouble it took to scrape up some linens for us, housekeeping is only staffed every other day.
Long before the not-able-to-take-a-shower-because-there's-nothing-but-toilet-paper-and-bedspreads-to-dry-off-with crisis, I could not figure out what sort of logic would cause this man who loves me to choose Circus effing Circus for our special vacation. Halfway to the airport it came to me: Hubby (ever the standard issue male) had made his choice based on loyalty to a hydroplane and its Seattle-born driver. Curse you, Chip Hanauer!!!!!