As I may have mentioned, last week I was in New York City for the Teen Author Festival (which was great, as always). I had set up the hotel myself, because I am a Big Girl and I have Debit Cards and I Can Do It All By Myself!, and I used Priceline, as I am wont to do. I am addicted to Priceline's name-your-own-price feature, because there is nothing like laying on a $250 pillow and knowing that you paid $100 for it.
I blame my Scottish lineage.
I also live in a fear of uncomfortable hotel beds. Is there a word for that? I used to be pretty tolerant of hard hotel beds. I thought things like, well, of course these beds need to be harder. They have to be industrial strength! They have to put up with heavy usage! They have someone sleeping in them every night!
And then I realized that I had just described my own bed.
Now I am less tolerant. So I aim for that expensive hotel bed every time. However, on this occasion, in my almost inexorable quest for fluffy pillows, I ended up booking Lover and I into a room with two beds. See, when you're wielding your price-naming-thrifty-Scottish sword above your head, Priceline doesn't let you specify if you want a room with a single large bed or a room with two doubles. Like a Charles Dickens novel, you take what they give you and you like it because that's all you're getting.
So here we were in beautiful New York City with a fluffy expensive bed. And another fluffy expensive bed two feet away from it. Of course I had slept in twin beds before, but I remembered them being larger. These beds looked tiny. They looked like those 100 calorie snack packs.
Lover shrugged. Lover was just glad to see beds. Turning off the light, he accepted his fate without a single Charles Dickens reference.
Now, I knew that logic really dictated that we each take one bed and be happy with it. But my principles burned fiercely somewhere in the region of my ear lobes. How dare Priceline be the thing to come between us.
I got into bed.
It was true that I had his elbow wedged in some soft tissue area of my body and my left arm was hanging over the edge of the bed. But the principle of it! I had come to New York City to spend three nights with my lover and I was going to spend it with him, dammit!
But I was too cold over in my bed by myself. Without Lover, my sleep patterns tend to look a lot like my awake patterns. And my awake patterns tend to look highly caffeinated, whether or not they are. My only consolation was that surely he was suffering as much as I.
Morning arrived. Lover's face bore the unmarked, halcyon countenance of a newborn child. I'd lost five pounds and had eaten two of my pillows. *insert Breaking Dawn joke here*
I'd like to say I've learned my lesson, but I know I haven't. Priceline, you devilish mistress.