Home Sweet Hotel

I love crisp white linens, bleachy-fresh towels and a constant supply of fun little shampoo samples as much as the next guest. Guest being the operative word here. But usually by about day 5 of the world’s tiniest coffee pot, $19.00 room service cheeseburgers and the must-be honeymooners next door, I’m ready to pack up my suitcase and head back to the homestead.

Well how about 5 plus 7,295 days, give or take a few? I just read a story about a British couple in their 70s that’s been calling a Travelodge hotel “home” for the past 20 or so years. Talk about a hefty bill at checkout. At first I thought this was just hilarious. I started picturing the Mrs. slowly working her own doilies and homemade potpourri into the room’s décor, and the Mr. passed out on the lobby sofa watching old Matlock reruns.

But then I realized these looney old lovebirds might just be onto something. We’re talking the Travelodge here, right? It can’t be more than $75 a night. And I bet there’s some sort of discount offered for booking multiple night stays... say, 20 years.

In my hefty mortgage is included, well nothing really. Just the humble abode and the grass my husband has to mow. There’s no maid at my beck and call to bring fresh towels and sheets. The breakfast is not continental, and has to be cooked by yours truly. Our electricity bill is through the roof and the garbage is only picked up once a week. And never once have I come home to a magically made bed with a mint on each pillow.

All these things together plus a free gym and pool membership, not to mention an onsite watering hole, make for a pretty sweet deal. Honey, I think its time we went house – er, I mean Inn – hunting.