Last week, I went out of town for a wedding that my lady was the maid of honor in. I knew it would be an interesting visit, as we were staying with the bride and groom. About a week before we showed up, the “rules” were posted on Facebook for all to see, like what towels we could use… our hostess, in turns out, has rather intense OCD.
I arrived and was immediately shown the fridge, which was full of beer. Not like a case, completely full to the gills. The freezer was stocked with liquor. I began to do a happy dance in my head and suddenly all was right with the world. Soon after, however, I took my bag inside. I was told which trash can I wasn’t allowed to use (the one was for decoration, the other was hidden away for actual use – decorative trash cans? You put TRASH in them), the rules of footwear and even instructed not to use bleach. In no scenario ever could I envision ever using bleach as a guest at someone’s house, unless perhaps I was held at gunpoint and told to clean or got the desire to lighten the color of my balloon knot.
I was expecting by week’s end to have to crap with one leg extended or sit on the floor in front of the couch because someone spilled a sippy cup on it once, but then I remembered the magic fridge of beer. I also realized, thanks to the nearly unlimited supply of booze, I was less likely to care about the dictates issued to me. Was this deal with the devil worth the price of my soul? Yes, yes it was. Now excuse me, I have to shop for customized towels…I couldn’t find the toilet paper.