Before Dale and I got married, I promised him he would never, ever find our life together boring. Because we both love the White Mountains of New Hampshire, we decided it would be the perfect location for our honeymoon. After careful research, I made reservations at a hotel in North Conway and off we flew in our 1984, burgundy, fully loaded Oldsmobile Regency Brougham.
We pulled up to the hotel right around 1 p.m. So far so good! The exterior of the building was rustic and well maintained. After registering and paying for our one-night stay, we were informed both the elevator and air conditioner were temporarily out of order. Undaunted, Dale toted our luggage up the rather steep stairway and I followed behind. By the time we reached the third floor, Dale and I were both out of breath. I unlocked the door to our room and Dale stepped past me, the three suitcases now dragging at his side. We were both clad in cool summer garb but it was unbearably hot and the air around us was heavy.
The room seemed unkempt, to say the least. Worn carpet, threadbare bedspread, chipped night stands, and bizarre art hanging at all levels on dented, stained walls. “I am NOT impressed,” Dale declared. “No air conditioning, no elevator service, and absolutely no class. How much did we pay for this room?”
I couldn’t answer him. My eyes were captivated by an exhausted old Tiffany-style lamp that hung on the end of a black chain coming down from the yellowed stucco ceiling. Clinging to the top of the faded lavender lampshade was a single pair of men’s undergarments. I turned to look at Dale, who by now had followed my gaze and was well aware of my discovery. Without a word, he gathered the bags, sighed deeply and headed out the door and down the stairs with me on his heels.
The lobby was filled with guests. My intention was to ask for a refund as discreetly as possible, since our reason for leaving was a rather sensitive topic. The receptionist, standing back to me, asked what I needed. I cleared my throat and whispered “We have decided not to stay. I would like a refund, please.”
She turned around and faced me, her reading glasses teetering on the end of her nose. “May I ask why you want a refund?” she asked. I attempted to whisper to her once again when she bellowed, “Speak up, Miss! Why do you want a refund?”
I took a long breath. “Well, it’s like this,” I said, my voice returning to its normal volume. “There is a pair of man’s undergarments swinging on the chain lamp in the middle of the ceiling in our room.” Several guests standing near me snickered, and one older couple gathered their things and exited; quite quickly, I might add.
Within a matter of seconds, I was holding a reverse credit card charge slip in my hand. I left immediately, walked directly to our car, and slid in beside Dale. Leaning my head back against the plush headrest of our darling old Regency, I let out a not-so-lady-like whistle and turned toward my husband. “Where do we go now?” I asked.
“You said our life together would never be dull,” Dale said. “Is this how it’s going to be for the next 50 years?”
I nodded. “You know it, Sweetie! And it only gets better.” And with that, the journey began.
Belinda Wilcox Ouellette lives Connor TWP with her husband Dale and their Goldendoodle Barney. They are currently working on building a home in Caribou. You may contact Belinda online at: dbwouellette@maine.rr.com.
