Jessica, perhaps because of the traumatic window-blinds incident, got a headache. She went to look for aspirin, which involved going into their medicine cabinet. Notice I said “going into,” not “going through.” If somehow something got moved, firstly, it was an accident. Secondly, Jessica did it.
Then there was the bed. They have individual comforters. Very European. And very white. One night, I noticed a slight discoloration at the bottom of one of the comforters and couldn’t get to sleep. “They’re going to think we did it,” I said. “Go to sleep,” Jessica said. “But we didn’t do it,” I said. “Go to sleep,” Jessica said. “They couldn’t have done it,” I said. “Jim,” Jessica said. “They’re not the type,” I said. “Jim!” she said. “But we didn’t do it. I didn’t do it. Did you do it?” “Jim, it’s nothing. Nobody did anything. Go. To. Sleep.”
Unable to sleep, I lay awake thinking of the incredible weekend. We had gone to the theater, a punk-rock club, and a jazz club, and we had eaten at a good Italian restaurant and at a great deli. And we’d been able to stay in this incredible place, with its wondrous view, for free.
Better yet, the computer wasn’t broken. I just didn’t know how to get online using my friend’s setup.
So what more could we ask for? The weekend was, in a word, fabulous.
I just hope they didn’t find out that Jessica discolored their comforter.