The Dumb Ass Hotel Guest (or) The Smart Ass Hotel Operator

We are home from our honeymoon weekend and we had a great time! Not a lick of anxiety plagued me, I didn't worry about the kids and we didn't lose money. It was a win/win/win situation...ALMOST.

The only thing I regret about our whole weekend was my little self inflicted embarrassment. We had been down in the casino, playing roulette and having a few beers. I ran up to the room to grab a sweater (they keep those casinos as cold as meat lockers) and check to make sure that my mom had not called. The hotel phone was not blinking, indicating that nobody had called. Then I noticed that one could order a spa service, just by calling the hotel extension provided on the phone directory. I was so impressed that I immediately called to book massages for Daniel and I. What better way to end our trip, right?

Apparently, when one drinks too many beers, spelling capabilities go down the shitter. The hotel attendant laughed hysterically at my request for two shiatsu massages and replied, "No mam, that word is 'messages' not 'massages'. We give you phone messages that people leave for you, but you don't have any of those either." Did she have to be such a smart ass about it? Geez. As if I didn't already feel completely stupid enough, I had to listen to her laugh at me. I was so glad that Daniel wasn't in the room to witness my little flub up. Of course, maybe he would have stopped me from making a total ass of myself in the first place. Then again, he was tipsy too and has terrible spelling, so maybe not.

We never did get our massages...or any messages. So I went home with a stiff neck, but did not have to talk to the hotel operator again. So I guess I'll just consider it a draw.