Jason and I used to be “hotel people”. We would meet up at hotels while we were dating long distance. We’ve done a lot of traveling throughout the years visiting family and going to pick up the Little Man for summer adventures. And in the past year, we’re adding traveling for Jason’s job into the mix. We added it up, and we think we’re on our 25th hotel since 2005. I know for some people that’s nothing. But before I was 27 I had stayed in maybe three or four hotels in my life so that’s a lot for me.
We’re finding that we’re falling out of love with hotel living lately. As much as I love not having to cook or clean for a few days, we really start missing our home. We miss our bed. We miss our Kitty.
It was easier leaving home when our bed was so old we had springs poking us in the back. It was easier when we only had a shower, so a bathtub, even if it only held two inches of water, was a luxury. Now that those things aren’t an issue anymore, it’s harder to find a reason to leave. We complain about the pillows and puff up with outrage over the crazy high vending machine prices. And we long for the comforts of home.
hclappy scraps 