I was hoping that once I got into a further-on stage of my pseudo-adulthood, that I would be able to resist those things that separate the pubescents from the possibly grown – but no. I still walk into a hotel room and want to to immediately steal everything in sight. (the irony here, of course, is that that is how politicians probably feel every time they see the budget. So we really do get the leaders we deserve, *laughs *cries). The mats. The curtains. The poofy towels. The luxuriant bathrobes. Mmmmmmmmm.
I was at Sarova Lion Hill Game Lodge a few weekends ago (yes, I had to look up the exact name. I would have written…Nakuru…lodge…in the park) and it was freezing. Beautiful, but freezing. We were visiting a niece of mine who goes to school in the area. She actually likes school though, so three guesses as to which one she attends?
The room we were staying in had that thick fluffy white goodness all pressed and fresh when we walked in – I may have even put that tastiness on the gram. I always have a deeply existential moral dilemma when I see those towels calling out my name. Will anyone notice they are gone? Whose salary will be cut? Don’t they have a budget for miscellaneous items missing? Do people ever actually leave WITHOUT TOWELS? AM I ALONE IN THE WORLD of feeling guilty for pilfering toiletries?
The shampoos? And lotions? Nah. No conflicted feelings there. They KNOW we’re supposed to be taking those. Too small to reuse, obviously…and other immanent reasons (I just learnt that word. Had to use it before I forget).
But towels? Those are not always a given. But it’s like these Lion Hill guys knew I was coming. They wrote a notice right next to the mirror: Don’t take anything out of the hotel room, Abi, especially the towels, because we SEE you, and that’s why the notice is next to the mirror, innit, see what we did there. I paraphrase, but it was pretty close to that.
And I have heard urban legends about people who lift whole sets of plates. Pretty sure I’m doing hotel living wrong.