True story: Last weekend we traveled to Columbus, Ohio on family matters, and we stayed at a modestly priced hotel, the name of which I will withhold to protect all involved. It turned out that the hotel had an indoor swimming pool, and, of course, I hadn’t packed a swimsuit. (My wife: “Jeff, how many times did I tell you to pack your swim trunks?!” I discovered years ago in our marriage that that’s the type of question you don’t answer.)
At any rate, the young lady at the reception desk helpfully mentioned that there was a department store nearby where I could buy a swimsuit. She could no doubt see me grimace at the thought.
Then, as if I was channeling my Inner Miser: “You don’t by any chance have one in my size in your lost and found, do you?” I asked, half jokingly (well, maybe 10% jokingly). My wife gasped.
“Well, actually,” the receptionist said, “we’re just getting ready to throw out a bunch of lost and find items that have been here for over a year. Let me check.” She returned with a neatly fold pair of swim trunks in my size, just one shade of burgundy lighter than my wife’s face. “Keep them when you’re through with them,” the receptionist said with a smile.
“Do you have anything else back there in my size?” I asked, as my wife interrupted the conversation to request that our reservation for a king sized bed be changed to two doubles.
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