The Princess and the Pea

Hostels are my thing, but I realize I won't be able to convert many to the wonders of quickly plugging into a city when there is a string attached called "sharing a bathroom." Such is the case of my good friend. I affectionately call her my Persian Princess as she only will tolerate the nicest of things.

Stay in a hostel? No way! Marriot hotels are more her speed, but she was willing to slum it with me in a Best Western. Public transportation? Are you out of your mind? Instead, we rented a car. At the beach, I offered her peaches that I bought from a farmer's market, and she wanted to know how I was going to wash them first. Besides, she argued, "Didn't you see the flies on those things?"

Before we left on our trip, she emailed me a packing list which was a foreshadowing of what was to come. My first clue as to how much we are the odd couple was that this list included both hotel shoes and shower shoes. I thought, "Huh, room slippers and shower shoes? Maybe she wears slippers around her house like a 1930's Hollywood diva. But shower shoes when we aren't camping?"

To her defense, she wore the same flip flops around the room and in the shower as she did to the beach. Based on that, I'd lower her crazy from a 9 to an 8.

Like true royalty, my Princess required everything to be in perfect order before she could relax. The first thing she did when we entered our room was to inspect the sheets. She turned the bedside lamp on and carefully went through each square inch of sheet, blanket, pillow and pillow case under it's condemning light. She even inspected the mattress. Can you guess what she was looking for?

Bedbugs. She wanted to see if any blood drops could be found on the sheets and mattress. "And if you find any evidence of bedbugs," I asked? If so, then she wanted to ask for a new room. Awkwardly I tried to follow her instructions on inspecting the sheets. I totally went through the motions to appease her since I didn't know what the hell I was looking for. I just wanted the Princess to be happy.

I also thought she'd be proud of me for my initiative in cleaning my feet before hopping into bed with her. Walking around town in sandals left my feet dirty, so I washed my feet in the tub. The plug fell into the drain and the water pooled. I didn't care. I let my feet take turns soaking in the hot water while I cleaned the other foot.

She walked into the bathroom, squished up her face, and oozed, "Ewwww! That's disgusting! Don't you know what's been in that tub? Pubic hair! Jizz! All sorts of gross stuff! And now your feet are in the water that is touching where all of that stuff was."

Well, after that description, I wanted to throw up.

Her neurosis didn't end there. The remote control was wrapped in a tissue so that I could not figure out which button was for volume or input. She unpacked a package of toilet seat covers, and I wondered if that was for the hotel or for our outings. And when I walked around barefoot in the room, I remembered her stance on germs and quickly put on my flip flops while checking to see if she caught my blunder.

Observing her for a few days, I finally figured out what the problem was. "Have you ever been to a third world country?" I asked. She hadn't, which was just so obvious. Once you see the level of filth in which the human body can thrive, you realize just how clean the United States are. By comparison, our dirt is dang clean.

Until she hits rock bottom, and by that I mean using a porta potty without a seat cover, I really don't think any of my arguments will win her over to my carefree ways. As long as she travels in clean places, she will demand only the most sanitary of conditions. But I'm not prepared to say that this demand is such a bad thing. The princess who felt the pea below so many mattresses earned herself a prince. I'm sure my Persian Princess will too.