Into every life a hotel incall comes... and when it does, along comes the great towel dilemma. There are never enough.
Touring providers like yours truly and my leggy pal Allie, have come to regard even the best-stocked hotel bath with a jaundiced eye.
"Only 3 bath towels," she'll report from her lovely suite.
"Mine, too," I'll establish after a cursory examination.
"Where's the maid's cart?"
As stealthy as cat burglars, we creep down the hallway, looking this way and that for our personal Mecca: the unattended cart replete with stacks of fluffed and folded goodness.
Once secured, they're hoarded in a secret place known only to ladies who entertain the cleanest boys in "ho" business.
Last week in Charlotte, one genteel southerner amused me no end by quoting miscellaneous chapter and verse from this little vixen's blog. When our visit drew to an end, he excused himself to clean up. After the shower turned off, I heard his voice.
"I dried myself off with a hand towel, I hope that's all right," he called out to me from the bath.
"What?" I responded. "You didn't have to do that, I laid out a fresh bath towel for you!"
"Oh, no," he replied, sticking his head around the door to grin at me. "I wouldn't use your big towels. I want to be invited back!"
You gotta love a man with a plan.