“We’d love to have you stay with us!”
Very kind. Very generous.
Very dangerous.
I love visiting friends and family. Dinner, conversation, a few laughs. But somewhere between “Have another cup of coffee” and “We’ve already made up the guest room,” I start checking hotel availability under the table.
At 75, I know what I need: a comfortable mattress, a nearby bathroom and the ability to leave a room without explaining where I’m going.
Being a houseguest complicates all three.
“Don’t be silly. Why spend money on a hotel? Stay here. You’re part of the family!”
That sounds wonderful until you remember what being part of a family actually involves.
Make yourself at home. Within limits.
“Help yourself to anything in the refrigerator!”
So I do.
I find a strawberry popsicle in the freezer. Perfect. I unwrap it, take a bite and suddenly a snot-nosed kid appears, screaming like I’ve just backed over his bicycle.
Apparently, it was HIS strawberry popsicle.
Nobody mentioned that the freezer had property rights.
Now his mother is looking at me like I stole his college fund, and I’m trying to figure out whether offering him the uneaten half will improve the situation.
It doesn’t.
The guest bedroom.
“ That used to be our mattress before we got the new one. It’s been a comfy one. We actually got it on sale at Discount Mattress the year we were married 25 years ago.”
It might be comfy if you like a mattress which dips like the Grand Canyon.
The bed also comes with enough decorative pillows to furnish a small hotel. I spend ten minutes removing them, then try to decide what to do with them.
Do I make the bed? Strip the bed? Fold the sheets? Take to washer? Not an issue at Motel 6.
Worst of all…It happens to be the popsicle kids bedroom. He is having a full drama workshop because he has to snuggle on the couch shared with Princess, their prized white standard poodle.
This ain’t going to end well.
Then there’s the guest bathroom.
It’s booked solid all morning.
Someone’s showering. Someone’s doing their hair. Someone’s in there so long I begin to wonder whether there’s another exit.
When I finally get in, the toilet overflows.
My fault, of course.
Six people have been using it since dawn, but I’m the one standing beside it when the water comes over the rim. That makes me the prime suspect.
Now I’m holding a plunger, standing in an inch of water and explaining that there was a preexisting condition.
The toilet’s.
Fortunately, there are six beautiful towels right in front of me.
Unfortunately, they’re the guest towels.
Guest towels are not for guests.
You would think the name settles the question.
It doesn’t.
“You didn’t use those, did you?”
Of course not. I dried my hands on my pants like a civilized houseguest.
Those towels are part of the bathroom decor. They’re folded, layered and arranged in a way that suggests touching one might trigger an alarm.
Meanwhile, the toilet is flooding the bathroom.
I look at the water. I look at the towels.
Apparently, we’d rather lose the floor.
So what about Princess the family poodle.
She has a beautiful poodle hairdo, manicured nails and absolutely no respect for my personal space.
She wants to be petted. Then scratched. Then petted again.
She sniffs me, jumps onto the couch and, just when I relax, sticks her nose in my crotch.
“She likes you!”
I’d prefer a handshake.
The family is oblivious. They cannot imagine anyone not adoring their little Princess.
Princess gets seven premium gourmet meals delivered every week by FedEx Priority.
“We certainly can’t allow her to eat processed food.”
I nod while eating my hot dog.
The dog’s dinner arrived in an insulated container. Mine came in a package of eight.
I’m tempted to slip her a bite, but I can already see how that ends: Princess makes a deposit on the living room carpet, and I’m responsible for another plumbing problem.
I keep the hot dog to myself.
I’m already wanted in connection with a popsicle.
Don’t borrow their car.
“Need to run to Walgreens? Take ours!”
Good chance the gas gauge will be below a quarter tank.
I can’t return it nearly empty. That would be rude.
So I fill it.
Then, under the gas station lights, I notice it could use a wash.
They’ve been so nice to let me use it. It’s the least I can do.
Seventy dollars to run to Walgreens.
Uber would have been fifteen.
And there’s no such thing as doing nothing.
At a hotel, I can sit quietly with a cup of coffee and stare out the window.
At someone’s house, that causes concern.
“Are you bored?”
No.
“Would you like the television on?”
No.
“We could go somewhere.”
I was enjoying being here until we started discussing it.
If I go to the guest room, I’m antisocial. If I stay in the living room, I need entertaining. If I put my shoes on, someone asks where I’m going.
I begin to understand why Princess is so excited when the door opens.
Eventually, we make our escape.
We pack. We check the drawers. We check the bathroom. We load the car.
Hugs all around.
“We loved having you!”
“We had a wonderful time!”
Nobody mentions the toilet.
We pull away, turn the corner and finally relax.
Then:
“Did you get the pills?”
Of course not.
Somebody always leaves something. Pills, underwear, a toothbrush. There’s always one little item determined to extend the visit.
We turn around.
The door opens.
“Hey! Come on in and have a cup of coffee before you head back. We still have a few popsicles left. And Princess fell in love with you!”
“Wow, we’d love to, but Jane is not feeling well. Believe she has COVID, and we sure don’t want to spread it.”
Jane is perfectly healthy.
She’s in the car with her seat belt fastened, supporting the diagnosis.
They hand over the pills. We say goodbye again.
This time, we keep driving.
I do appreciate the invitation. I appreciate the hospitality, the meals and the effort people make to welcome us.
And I’d like us all to remain friends.
Which is why, before our next trip, I’ll be saying a little prayer.
The Houseguest Serenity Prayer
God, grant me the serenity to decline their invitation,
the courage to book a room at Motel 6,
and the wisdom to keep that reservation.
Keep the light on
Amen
And please, Lord, let the towels be for drying.
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