My husband and I were in a hotel recently and I was forced into a life of crime, once again reminded that I would make a terrible bad guy.
Housekeeping forgot to replenish our shampoo and conditioner one morning, and we were running low. Making a request would have required a phone call down to the hotel desk, which I despise. Calling down to the desk makes me feel like Eloise's mother. I am barely comfortable having other people make my bed; Being the lady who picks up the phone and says, "Hello, this is Mrs. Fitzpatrick in Room 712" may as well just continue with "I'd like my peeled grapes brought up immediately. And could James bring the Rolls around. I'm luncheoning with Cary Grant at 1. Thingyow. "
I spotted the housekeeping caravan in the hallway. It was unattended. The housekeeper was apparently in one of the nearby rooms with the door closed.
"Grab some shampoo and conditioner off that cart," my husband said.
"But there's no one with it. Shouldn't I ask? Or at least explain why I'm taking it? I want them to know they didn't give us any today. I don't want them to think I'm stealing it."
"Oh my god," my husband said. "No one is looking. Just take it. And grab a couple extra waters while you're at it."
" Waters???" My chest started to tighten. This was all just too much. What did he think this was, a spree?
I quietly took one shampoo and one conditioner out of their bins. And then - my hands were literally shaking - I surreptitiously slipped two bottles of water from the shelf, but not before I stage-whispered to my husband, "The waters in the room are free, right? Right?"
"Remind me to never rob a bank with you," he said as we walked back to the room, my loot stuffed under my shirt. "You are so slow."
Being slow doesn't even make the list of reasons why I could never rob a bank. I would have a mini-stroke from just thinking about getting caught. (As badly as I need the uninterrupted reading time, women's prison isn't all it's cracked up to be, I've heard.) I hate line cutters so I would probably politely wait my turn, which isn't advisable when wearing a ski mask. And I'm no good at being stealthy, although my husband is even worse. He is the loudest walker I know. Even in stocking feet on carpet, you can hear him coming a mile away.
Back in our room, I closed the door behind me, bolted it and breathed a sigh of relief.
"Now I'm thinking I should have left a note," I said.
While I might be the world's worst criminal, my husband is about to get away with murder.
Diane writes about using humor to cope with things in life that suck. Read more of her Just Humor Me columns here. Sign up for our weekly e-newsletter to get new blog post notifications. And if you like her blog, you'll love her books, Home Sweet Homes: How Bundt Cakes, Bubble Wrap, and My Accent Helped Me Survive Nine Moves and Great-Grandma Is on Twitter and Other Signs the Rapture Is Near.
