After checking into the hotel on Sunday night I took my key and looked at the envelope that came with it. There's a line where it says the name of the person staying in the room. Erin, who I travelled with, rolled her eyes as she mentioned that they called her "Miss." I had the upper hand on that story. They called me "Mr."
Sometimes I don't get what I deserve and then there are times when I get more than I deserve. After complaining for two months that I HAD to attend a work conference, in Phoenix, in the summer, my mouth finally shut...or maybe it would be more appropriate to say that it fell open to the floor. We pulled up to The Phoenician and my complaining stopped immediately. How did I not know we were staying at such a fantastic place and why did I not come here earlier in the weekend to enjoy everything?
Somehow at check-in I was upgraded to a suite. My room was bigger than my apartment and my balcony could host a 50 person cocktail party. I'll post views of the room and from the balcony soon. It was jaw dropping gorgeous. AND my bathroom was an enormous marble dream. THAT's what I call a work conference. I'll have to visit when my trip doesn't include 8-5 meetings.
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3 comments:
wahhh wahhh, i can't go to the mavericks but i have to stay in the hotel equivalent of Cesar's Palace...life is so hard...becky stayed on a couch for 3 nights...
Becky, thank you for your comment. Do I need to remind you that I STAYED ON A COUCH FOR 4 MONTHS! And you're married and having sex. Get over it!
Wait? Me? That wasn't ME! I was terribly glad to hear that you had a room just like the Grand Wailea...plus, I was busy looking at Rolando Blackmon and thinking about how I used to "greet" him on Stonebriar Way.
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