So then…I fake a ghastly gastro-intestinal malady to exit work early, grab a cab to my apartment, and throw together a couple ensembles appropriate for the flash and dazzle of Vegas. Hey, why spend a lonesome weekend in my New York apartment when I can surprise my boyfriend on his business trip at a big casino hotel?
I board the flight with much excitement. Here I am, madcap gal, flitting cross-country for the weekend! I am spontaneous! I am wild! I am…actually…exhausted. How long is this flight? Finally, I land in Sin City, ready to Sin. In the lobby, I call my boyfriend’s hotel room but no one answers. Hmm. Perhaps surprising him was not such a good idea after all. I call again. Still no answer. I had not planned on this.
Plan? Plan? Madcap gals do not plan!
So I charge over to the registration desk and request a key for my “husband’s” room, certain he’d be pleased with the instant promotion. And wonder of wonders, the clerk gives it to me! I’m amazed he does not require documentation of some kind before so blithely passing over a hotel key! But hey, this is Vegas.
I zip down the hall, eager to freshen up before searching for my soon-to-be-surprised paramour. But as I approach the door to his room, I hear voices. My key poised just above the lock, I pause. There is only one reason you do not answer your hotel room phone when you are in your hotel room.
Oh…my…God. He’s in there with some blonde blackjack dealer. He is having sex. He is…shooting guns. Shooting guns? Wait. Car crash. Sirens. Oh, thank God. It’s the TV! He left the TV on! I quickly enter the empty room. What was I thinking? He would never shoot guns while having sex.
So I look in the mirror, as I am wont to do occasionally, OK, frequently, OK, obsessively. And I notice that the cross-country trip and near brush with infidelity have taken a toll. If I hurry, I can shower and change before my boyfriend returns to his room. Then I can surprise him in clean and glowing splendor.
I strip, rush into the bathroom, slide open the glass shower door, and — CRASH! It smashes into a million shards of glass. Good grief! I didn’t slam it! Now what? I survey the pile of jagged glass. My boyfriend could return to his room at any minute. I can either notify the front desk…or I can succumb to vanity and take a shower anyway.
Cut to: Me showering, gingerly tiptoeing on bath towels covering the broken glass.
Hair dryer. Curling iron. Make-up. Gold-spangled mini dress. I lift the towels to survey the damage, nicking my finger in the process. Damn. Blood on the bath rug, the mini dress, and the curling iron.
OK, now how do I deal with the fact that I broke the hotel’s shower door – AND I’m not even supposed to be in his room in the first place? How much do shower doors cost anyway?
Not feeling so madcap now. Descending in elevator. Descending in mood.
BRAINSTORM! I march over to the front desk and demand the front desk manager’s attention post-haste. “I almost killed myself in your shower!” I exclaim. “Your door shattered into a million pieces and look – the glass slashed my finger!” I thrust my nicked finger in his face, wincing with pain, while still maintaining my accusatory glare. “My husband is NOT going to be happy when he hears about this!”
Cut to: Me, supervising the bellmen packing and moving all my boyfriend’s belongings to our new (and complimentary) hotel suite.
I am ecstatic. I nibble a strawberry from the complimentary fruit basket and sip the complimentary champagne as I lounge on the sumptuous king-size bed, wearing my most revealing nightie, waiting for my honey to enter and enjoy the benefits of my clever madcapping.
Regrettably, he is downstairs in his old room, frantically reporting to hotel security, “I’ve been robbed! And look in the bathroom: Glass everywhere! Blood! I think someone’s been stabbed!”
— Darcy Perdu
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(Any madcapping adventures to share? Have you ever tried to surprise someone? Or taken a spontaneous trip? Share your fun stories in the Comments Section!)