Today was a real clusterfuck in a woe-is-me-my-problems-aren't-real-problems kind of way.
We finally got to check into our real resort today, which was exciting
since we could unpack the car all the way and get our little beastie
baby into a vacation routine for the week. We were thrilled with the
hotel lobby and grounds. Nothing says vacation like rows of blue
umbrellas on the beach, cabanas, and bar service to your pool chair.
Imagine our horror when the front desk guy showed us to our suite.
Which was just a room with a king size bed and couch and a weird mini
sink in the corner and a bathroom with a shower but no tub. WTF we
asked. He pointed out the ocean view. We pointed out the three other
people we had to share the room with and the print-out of our online
reservation that spoke of a bedroom, a living room, and 2 bathrooms. He
was like, sorry man, the hotel is booked solid. WTF we asked again,
louder this time. We launched into a good cop/crazy hormonal cop
routine, where Ben acted really bummed about driving from Wisconsin to
this shitty room, and I started yelling and calling other hotels.
Luckily the good cop worked because everything else was booked! We now
have 2 huge rooms and 2 huge bathrooms. And we're on the 7th floor and I
hate elevators, so my vacation exercise plan got that much easier!
Harry and Jack love a good breakfast buffet