The dull haze when you turn on
the only working bedside lamp reminds you of something distant you can’t quite put your finger on. A memory of your childhood when you felt a guilty knot in your stomach for teasing the funny-sounding foreign guy, when it was really just an amusing episode of That ‘70s Show. Or was it Perfect Strangers? When late night Ab Master, Ginsu knives, and Chia Pet Infomercials begin losing their novelty you like to call the front desk for extra amenities: Lilliputian shampoo bottles, mint-scented body wash… Not because you forgot yours – you have a suitcase full – but to reassure yourself that someone out there, other than your mother, cares about your hygiene. You wait for housekeeping to arrive to take them on a whirlwind grand tour, proudly exhibiting all the improvements you’ve made now that you’ve constructed a Zen garden out of bed sheets and Feng Shuied all the furniture. You request an early morning wake-up call so you can pick up the phone and sleepily mumble “Good morning. I love you.” Only when you pad out into the hallway to grab a strange city’s newspaper, wearing nothing but a grin and a flimsy sense of modesty, do you realize from the gasps and giggles coming from German backpackers, that you’re far away from home and that the air is suddenly very cold. |