Ever think about what goes on in these rooms? Has a sweaty business man's ass sat on my covers? Is that some best-left-unidentifiable fluid formally drenched on the drapes now nothing more than a darker spot on the fabric as the sun makes it's vain attempt to pierce through. When was the last time any of these pieces of fabric washed?
The conclusion is, I don't want to think what's gone on in this little room. My imagination is way too vivid. I'd be much happier at home with my wife and babies, where I know my OCD lover cares very much about washing the sheets whether they need it or not. I'm assured that the 409 with bleach does a great job in the bathroom, and the smells in every room are familiar and easy to identify.
It's time to check out and grab whatever day old bagel may be left on the continental breakfast display.
The conclusion is, I don't want to think what's gone on in this little room. My imagination is way too vivid. I'd be much happier at home with my wife and babies, where I know my OCD lover cares very much about washing the sheets whether they need it or not. I'm assured that the 409 with bleach does a great job in the bathroom, and the smells in every room are familiar and easy to identify.
It's time to check out and grab whatever day old bagel may be left on the continental breakfast display.
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