open letter number 4

Peruse my MUSINGS section to read my previous 3 open letters to laundry, student loans, and the drawer under my oven. 

Dear Hotels of America [and maybe other countries too, I just have never visited you]:

I have a weird infatuation with you, and I feel like now is the time for me to make it known. So here I am, hotels, coming clean-- I love you. I love you like the old Savage Garden's song [truly, madly, and deeply, in case that brilliant simile was lost on you].

I know some people are weirded out by you, thinking that your sheets are never really clean, or that one shouldn't walk around you barefoot lest they pick up some disease. I even know of some people that feel the need to bring lysol and spray you down before they will sleep at ease. I need you to know that I, though a sometimes self proclaimed 'germ-a-phob', am not one of those people.

I walk into your majestic halls and smile broadly when handed a key card. I swipe said card with a smile and push open the door into your room which has been cleaned and prepared just for me. I survey the space, the slight smell of chlorine floating down the hall from the warm pool, and flop on the bed, totally relaxed at at ease knowing that I don't have to make it in the morning.

Hotels of America, your cable television and mini fridge inspire me to kick my feet up. I have no obligations, no errands to attend to when I am at your place. I can turn the thermostat to 'ice' and not worry about the bill. I can take a 30 minute shower. I can get service at the push of a button.

Thank you for also being concerned about my safety. As someone who grew up with a father who was always imposing fictitious scenarios to see if I was aware of my surroundings, I now live a somewhat paranoid life. So thank you for your triple bolt doors and your emergency exit map.

I also appreciate that you leave me pen and paper. You don't assume that since it is 2012 no one writes anything down any more, you simply leave me two of my most treasured ammenities. Well four, if you count the coffee and the paper travel mug to pour it in. However, you do understand that these times call for different measures also, and provide me with free and unlimited wi-fi. My instagram and blog followers thank you for this convenience.

Oh, and hotels of America, I am seven paragraphs into this letter and I haven't even mentioned your breakfasts! Oh your glorious warm, prepared breakfasts served until ten…TEN! I love breakfast food but never get to eat it because I don't want to waste any time that could be sleeping preparing breakfast. But you solved this problem for me. You let me sleep in. You let me roll out of bed, not pressuring me to fold the covers back up neatly, and attend your breakfast just as I am. I don't ever have to worry about brushing my hair or my teeth or putting on my makeup before hand, as I know I will never see any of those people ever again. So I load up with sausage and make a waffle and grab an omelet and some cereal, a muffin, some fruit, and a yogurt for later. Sigh. Thank you for this heartwarming experience every morning.

You are truly rest for the weary, hotels of America. On that night that Brent and I just couldn't drive a mile further, you opened your doors to us. On that family vacation when my dad finally gave up at the primitive camp ground and we got to stay in your hallowed halls, you were a friend during troubled times. Yes, hotels of America, you are wonderful. [And lest there are any MOtels reading this letter, it is not addressed to YOU, you filthy, yet sometimes charming in your uniqueness, place. ]

Hotels of America, I raise my styrofoam cup and my ice bucket to you for a job well done.

Love,

Kelsey

PS This is the first "open letter" I have written that has been positive. You should consider yourself lucky. Please don't do anything to screw up this romance!