The Hotel Comforter

You all know what I'm talking about.
You try to believe in the good of the hospitality employees.
However, it becomes impossible to believe they actually wash it.

And so it's a showdown. The first think I do upon entering my $199 room is suck in a deep breath of unbearably dry air and stare at the bed. Up and down I visually check for any color variations and mentally lecture myself. "This is not a Super 8, Margo, have some faith. Enjoy a queen sized bed to yourself for a night! You know you want to sprawl out and hog the pillows." (And don't even get me started on the pillows...)

However, I can't do it. I can't convince myself. It doesn't matter to my germ-fearing mind, Super 8 or Hilton or Kessler, it makes no difference to me. First things first: I grab the comforter by the corner and peel it back (hopefully revealing 300 thread count sheets) and throw it on the floor where it will remain until I check out.

I don't even know what kind of diseases you could catch from this unsanitary piece. Certainly the bubonic plague doesn't live within it, even if it does, we can easily cure it now. (It is the 21st century.)

So here I am. After a lovely night privately touring the aquarium and then enjoying drinks and a live band, I'm back. Watching Family Guy (not a huge fan) on top of the sheets. Looking at that comforter feeling a big homesick for my own sanitary bedroom.