On February 15 I woke up and saw a dark smudge on my hotel bed sheet.
Why can't I resist those king-sized Snickers? I must have fallen asleep in the middle of another minibar binge. I thought I'd been doing pretty well lately. I HAD polished off a tin of mixed salted nuts earlier that day but had rearranged the remaining tins in attempts to trick housekeeping into thinking they were all there, taking up space, no need to replace anything, people.
This is not to avoid paying for the old nuts, this is to avoid inhaling the new nuts.
I got out of bed and saw lots of dark smears on the carpet. I AM A PIG! Shame, chagrin, etc. I opened the curtain, ready to shed light on the mortifying scene, and turned around to discover that the smudges were actually ROSE PETALS.
Strewn across the bed, carpeting the floor with stains of red, were roses.
I remembered the night before when Sunny and Shane were in my room and saw the single rose stuck between pillows on my bed.
Romantics that they are, they were like, "What's that? That's gross."
And I explained that the flight attendant gave it to me for Valentine's Day and I thought it was a nice little gesture on his part. Dang.