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SIX WORD » LIFE

Hot blonde mess, with big rack.

by notjustagirlintheworld on March 10, 2013   |  FacebooktwitterTumblr


My 13 year old repeated this at his birthday dinner last night, telling all of us how my husband described the young woman who greeted him at the desk when he checked in to his NYC hotel on Valentine’s Day. The "hot blonde mess” told him there was a surprise in his room (but neglected to say from his wife) to which he responded "I hope she's good looking."
I had spent the better part of the day feeling guilty, and ignoring the considerable amount of work on my desk, to arrange for chocolate covered strawberries and a split of champagne to greet him in his room at the Fairfield Inn in Times Square. (No small feat to arrange in few hours on Valentine’s Day, even in NYC.) All of this to compensate for the "sin" of assuming (ass u me) that when one’s husband tells you he is spending Valentines night alone in hotel room in NYC, the holiday is pretty much off, only to be greeted that morning -- before he left -- with "what no card?"
When he got to his room he assumed (ass u me) that the gift was from the hotel, "because he is platinum Marriott member," AND because the lovely woman who set all of this up for me (not the hot blond mess) neglected to leave any indication that was from me, or perhaps instructed had the hot blonde mess to do so. So, still cardless (and clueless) he ate three of the six strawberries and then went back downstairs to offer the rest to the 'hot blonde mess' who no doubt though he was trying to pick her up, and looked 'uncomfortable.'
Finally after returning to his, room he called home and got my 13 year old on the phone. I watched as his dad related the story and he became increasingly confused and uncomfortable, looking at phone and looking at me quizzically, at which point, I instructed him to “give me the phone.” I asked my husband if he got a surprise in his room. He said yes (still not connecting the dots) and went on tell me how nice the Marriott people were, at which point I said “those were from me you boob,” leading him to share the story of his sharing (and apologize).
What we had there is a failure to communicate.

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