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July 10, 2009

Road Signs

Tales from the our Lampoonish mini-trip to Dallas last weekend to pick up my wayward youngest two children:

-Four hour trip, barely out of the neighborhood, much less the city, and my husband starts discussing where we were going to 'eat' on the road, as if we were going to pick from 5 star restaurants that were Zagat rated and we had never eaten at before. His choices were the same places that have lined I-45 from Houston to Dallas, for as long as I can remember: Texas Burger, Dairy Queen, Jack in the Box, or the new Buccee's as our prime location to eat. He loooovvvvesss choosing places to eat on road trips so this was a tough choice.

-As we were walking into our hotel, a lady who looks like an grown adult cheerleader who never grew out of being a cheerleader, is talking on her cell phone outside the rotating hotel door, LOUDLY saying, "Honey, I see all kinds of people here with Pomeranians and Shiztus....next time I'm bringing the dog!" (This is a BIG Sheraton. I am not at Motel 6!) I should have turned around right at that moment and ran.

-I walked into the hotel and there were two hundred tween girls all dressed in pink with make up on. The lobby was full, it looked like a mini Mary Kay convention (sorry Kelly, I couldn't resist!) I politely requested a room as far from the tweens as possible but was told they were 'spread out' throughout the hotel. Does the hotel fridge come stocked with Valium then? I mean they were everyyyywwwwwheeerreee. I have all boys. I can barely relate to one pre-teen girl, much less two hundred of them running around dressed in pink and chattering-I don't even know what that noise they were making, collectively in a large group, was called? How were the hotel windows not shattering? Boys don't chatter like that. They mumble. I'm thinking forget the room, lead me to the hotel bar. Quickly.

-We got into the elevator and sure enough, there were two people with Pomeranians on leashes. Who knew you could bring a dog to a Sheraton. Why would you?

(Note: right about then I was running down a list in my head of other hotels and random relatives I had not seen since the age of 10 but might be located nearby in case things got bad enough to switch hotels. I was willing to take a pinch or two on the cheek from a stray aunt if it got that bad.)

-We got to the room and the tweens were practicing a dance routine RIGHT OUTSIDE our room window which faced into a small lobby. This is a problem, I am thinking, over the blaring sound of Kate Perry. I considered going out there and asking to learn the routine with them, as a quick deterrent. My husband wasn't amused, I thought it was kinda funny, you would too if you saw me dance. Phone call to front desk, new room provided.

-We couldn't find a place to eat so we stopped at Tom's Diner (as in the song by Suzanne Vega, sort of...) where the waitress said the daily special was 'Grilled Rabbi.' Long stare. I've lived in Texas forever, like most of my life, and I'll admit I have an accent. But I've never EVER heard 'Ribeye' sound like 'Rabbi.' And then I couldn't stop thinking of Grilled Rabbi. And, um, Grilled Rabbi (or Ribeye for that matter) isn't the best thing to have going through your mind when you are in a nice hotel on the 15th floor with your husband. Enough said.

The best part was hanging out with my husband, who enjoys riding hotel elevators as much as my children. I even let him push the button with our floor number when we got in, just for fun.
Men are so easy to amuse.
But if you walk into a nice hotel and see more pink running around than the Pepto delivery guy carries in his semi, don't even walk in. Just stop and walk away.
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