So Funny It's Scary iii

After somehow surviving Ghost Night, I expected the girl at checkout to laugh at me when she found out my room number. Instead she showed about as much interest as a block of the cheese that has made her state so famous, and pudgy. Yet when I told her what happened, she became a veritable pepperjack of disbelief, all of which sounded extra endearing in Wisonson-ese: “Oo my gad, why did yoo stee-ay in dere!?”

Apparently, couples who have grown weary of the natural wonders of the act of love sometimes ask if there are any haunted rooms for them to tousle in. She’s always had to disappoint them. Now they’ll be staying in 412.

The next night we drove through a blinding white out so bad that we passed up a stop at Thai Café in Indianapolis, home of the finest coconut pudding in the country. So when we reached our destination, I had to spend another two hours behind the wheel of the van trying to find something much worse to eat. The best I could do was a bar serving chicken wings apparently so bad that no one else had to eat them, until me. I ended the night so irritated that I ran barefoot for three miles on the treadmill back at our Hampton Inn. (Not because I was mad, but because we don’t really have room to pack secondary shoes.) By the time I curled up to sleep on the floor, it not being my turn for a bed, my feet were sort of raw. But hey, at least I don’t have a day job. Plus the lights stayed off.