I was already mildly delirious just from my walk past the courtyard to the elevator, so when I first opened the door to my room I wasn’t sure what to expect. But I don’t think I expected this:
And I sure didn’t expect this:
Hello? That shower is bigger than my cube at the WoFfice. At least, it felt that way. Let’s just say that one could take several steps before coming near the shower spray. The ginormous bathtub is rather grand, too, no? And (because I feel that my readers need to know these things) the toilet lid floats down automatically. Or at least, it doesn’t slam down.
It’s been a long time, but I rather think my first apartment was not much larger than this bedroom. The closet light came on automatically. Of course. And the bathroom counter (which I did not photograph) emitted a soft glow from underneath so one could avoid stumbling at night.
The room had a doorbell. A doorbell. I learned this when Hanna (my roommate for the weekend) called the desk to inquire about our complimentary peanut brittle, which was unaccountably MIA. (No, I did not eat it and not tell her. Why would you think that?) To our delight, they immediately sent up a handful of samples via a nice young man who, of course, rang the aforementioned doorbell.
Oh yes, the peanut brittle. It is justifiably famous. Not at all like the also-yummy crispy stuff my cousin Tracy makes at holidays, this was soft yet crunchy. Much like the inside of a Butterfinger, only without the sharp layers. Christy took me to Bruttles, the candy store across the street, where I bought a 2-pound box for the WoFfice. (It was the largest they had. It was gone in 2 days.) You get it here, btw: http://bruttles.com/
While you’re at the Bruttles site, do read the story of Aunt Sophie. And order some peanut brittle, because there’s nothing else like it. I attempted to recreate it at home and it was a complete and total disaster. Not even edible. Ick. Bleah. Whatever Aunt Sophie’s secret is, it’s a good one.
It’s getting late as I type this, which leads me inevitably to longing thoughts about the Davenport bed. That’s what it’s called, the “Davenport Bed.”
How comfy is it? The first night I think I slept 11 hours straight. After the second night, I went downstairs to the gift shop to see if they would ship a bed to Texas. They would. For a small fee, of course, on top of the purchase price of the Davenport mattress and mattress topper, but then with that purchase one did get a discount on the Egyptian cotton bedding. I’ve bought cars for less than the total package price…but that didn’t stop me from taking a price sheet home with me. Yes, they are THAT comfortable. So far logic, prudence, and financial responsibility have prevented me from placing an order, but if I come into money, I’m calling Spokane.
One might think that was all there was to be said about a hotel. But no. In my next post, we go on safari. Stay tuned.