I have a long-standing affection for Odd Accommodations: just ask The Peanut Gallery about my arrangement for us to stay in a real, working windmill in Canada, for example.
As we listened to the hum of the big blades flashing incessantly past our window, Bill kept muttering “WHO would ever think of putting a bed and breakfast in a windmill?”
Then, eyes cutting sideways, came the followup comment: “And who but you would ferret it out and actually stay in one?”
OK – so it was a total surprise to him. And contrary to popular beliefs about women and loose tongues, I kept the secret of our stay right up to the end when The Peanut Gallery, having driven for some 30 miles out into the countryside at my direction, kept insisting we were ‘lost’.
After 20 miles of these innuendos questioning my map-reading abilities, “We ARE lost” and “There’s NOTHING out here” began to include “Except that windmill out in the vineyard.”
I continued to direct, totally unfazed, and at the 5-mile-till-arrival mark, The Peanut Gallery began to see the light. Or, more specifically, the windmill’s steadily revolving blades.
After a few more minutes of (uncommon, for him) silence he tentatively queried, “…we’re not actually staying in the windmill…are we??”
Perhaps the admittedly-maniacal laughter tipped him off that he’d stumbled onto the sordid truth at last.
Lest any try a similar venture, it should be pointed out that, of necessity, the narrow winding staircase(s) to the top tower room is, admittedly, more open to hosting small children than a 60-year-old, ‘big-and-tall’ senior citizen.
Another point The Peanut Gallery wished me to emphasize here: the bathroom was inconveniently located two circular staircases down.
Me: I was too enthralled by the gently rotating blades inches outside our window to care about mundane mutterings regarding toiletry locales.
And just to spice the experience, our hosting family (who stayed downstairs) provided two small kids ages six and five who apparently loved having a captive audience upstairs, and who (thoughtfully) later created an original puppet play in our honor which had several suspiciously-mocking scenes involving an old man who clung to the narrow circular staircase to the top room whilst muttering something about ‘bathroom locales.’*
Aren’t kids adorable??
And, wasn’t I thoughtful, with my windmill b&b surprise??
I thought so – even though later The Peanut Gallery requested our next accommodations include in-room plumbing and a distinct lack of homey-yet-dwarf-narrow circular staircases.
Da man has no sense of adventure. (And if I could figger out a way to pee in the sink at 3AM, so could he….)
*The Peanut Gallery reminds me that ‘twas he who stole the kids’ puppets and put on a MUCH better puppet show than they did.
Which led to their joyous screams akin to Xmas hysteria, parental challenges at bedtime, and a barrage of tears and pleadings for us to stay and move in when departure time rolled around.
Try to get this level of enthusiasm outta a Super 8, Bill….
(…they DON’T cry when you check out…
or BEG you to stay longer…)