I’ve discovered that there are two types of people in the world: jacuzzi types and non-jacuzzi types. Let me explain:
Perhaps I should take the opportunity to mention here that before we joined the ranks of the old and decrepit, DH was a traveller of the “iron butt” variety: the farther away the destination, the faster he wanted to get there and back, to the almost complete exclusion of such mundane things as inclement weather, sleep and nourishment – and in my case at least, pee breaks!
I don’t know; perhaps this is a common male trait similar to never asking directions. But what I did know was that we had to come to some kind of compromise before I would set foot out of the house on this particular trip.
So compromise we did….sort of. I got my bathroom breaks any time I needed one (I ask you, is it my fault that females have smaller bladders?), and he got the occasional 24-hour drive where we took turns sleeping. Trust me, if your man is one of those for whom this is a preferred mode of travel, take my advice: insist on flying.
We had a wonderful time, though, once the driving part was over . We drove up and down absolutely terrifying switchbacks, tramped around canyon after canyon, gawked at piñon pines and tumbleweed, explored ancient Anasazi cliff dwellings and the Grand Canyon and Navaho National Park lands; and we camped in wonderfully picturesque spots. In fact, one night we unknowingly pitched our tent right smack in the middle of a wild turkey run and were treated to the sight of about fifty wild turkeys strolling by as we were eating breakfast the following morning.
We saw landscapes and trees and birds that were totally different from what we were accustomed to back home. We walked and gazed and oohed and ahhed until our brains were so stuffed that they couldn’t absorb one single thing more without a little “down” time.
The weather was wonderful. Fall had arrived in the American Southwest; the days were hot and sunny, and the evenings were refreshingly cool – cool enough, in fact, that we were happy to crawl into our warm little tent at night.
And slipping into a warm sleeping bag lined with a cozy blanket after a cup of steaming hot chocolate on a cold night when you’re so tired that you’re “out” the moment your head touches the pillow….that has to be one of life’s deeper pleasures!
All in all, it was an entirely satisfactory journey, and I couldn’t get enough of it. Eventually, though, we had to think about heading home. It was certainly time: we were beginning to see our breaths in the morning when we crawled out of our tent to make the coffee!
So I gritted my teeth and we began the return journey, which was made longer by the fact that we had decided to return via the shore of Lake Superior, across the Mackinac Bridge and through Michigan to the Canadian border at Port Huron, which isn’t that far from home. This time, though, it rained much of the way; and since not only is my night vision not the greatest, but the visibility was terrible, we finally had to stop at a motel on the way back.
We were only a few hours from home, but it was raining (what else!) and I was more than ready to stop squinting through the night drizzle for highway signs, so we finally stopped and looked around for a room for the night. Lucky for us there was one nearby, so we parked, dragged ourselves into the reception office, and asked for a room.
The manager apologized profusely and informed us that there were no regular rooms available that night…but we could have the Bridal Suite on “special” if we wanted it, because the reservation for that room had been cancelled at the last minute.
Without a moment’s hesitation, we grabbed it.
We really ought to have known better. DH and I, who joyfully honeymooned in our youth with a pup tent and camp stove in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, are definitely not “Bridal Suite” material.
Once the paperwork was completed, the manager showed us to this huge, dimly-lit, L-shaped room. One end of the L had a living room area with chairs and a table, desk, and so on; the join of the L contained a king-sized bed with a mirrored headboard (this should have tipped me off); and, last but definitely not least, around the corner, along the other wall of the L, lay an enormous jacuzzi, surrounded on three sides by walls of smoked mirrored glass!
I’ve never been in a “house of ill repute” – or even know if there is such a thing nowadays – but what I did know was that this room would definitely qualify as having a suitable ambience.
The jacuzzi was truly a marvel. It could have seated eight to ten people comfortably. Rows of jets protruded from all sides of this monster. Most amazing of all, the many mirrors were angled so that every movement displayed a different aspect of the entire human body in about ten different views.
I was speechless.
We closed the door behind us and set down our bags. Well, we needed to get cleaned up for bed anyway, and the choice was the sink or this enormous tub. Feeling like a character in a bad movie, I turned on the taps, hauled off my clothing, and prepared to submerge.
Stepping into this mirrored wonder was a fairly unnerving experience, since I was forced to view, in toto, what I was normally accustomed to seeing only in bits and pieces in my bathroom mirror. To put it discreetly, what the accumulation of years, several childbirths and a hearty appetite had done to a formerly girlish figure was a little scary!
As I sank into the water and attempted to rearrange myself into what I considered a reasonably attractive pose that didn’t expose any of the flabby bits to one mirror or another (when in Rome…..), I found myself wondering what it must be like to have to clean this baby every few days. I decided the only way to clean it efficiently would be to use a pool brush on it.
After achieving the desired position, I attempted what I thought might be a glamorous, seductive look (this at 10:00 p.m., after a day and a half of driving…..) DH interrupted my efforts by casually mentioning, “We could never have one of these at home.”
There it was. My guy was getting ready to make a sexy reference to the romantic potential of this jacuzzi, my artful self-presentation – and no children around. I smiled coyly at him and asked why not.
“Well,” said he, “it would cost too damn much for hot water!”
Pool brush? Hot water? Definitely the non-jacuzzi type….