What did you do for New Year’s Eve?
Tom and I… got a hotel room.
…And I’ve been embarrassed to tell people about it since.
Something about the phrase “got a hotel room” makes it sound like we rented it hourly or something. Added to the facts that we didn’t leave town (unless you consider Huntington-to-Commack a trip) and that it was a Hampton Inn rather than a fancy B&B, it sounds like we went there for one reason only.
My gut feeling was affirmed when I told my sister about our big plans. Her immediate response was “Well, that’s awkward.”
I know I shouldn’t be embarrassed: the man is my husband; we didn’t feel like partying; staying home wasn’t much of an option since we live with my father in the saddest bachelor pad of all time; and it was our first married New Year’s Eve.
But alas, even Ms. PC feels the flush of shame sometimes. And when I do, I confess it to the whole damn internet, apparently.
Even with all my rational defenses, I still feel the need to say, for the record, that in addition to other things, the night mostly consisted of camping out with sushi and watching the ball drop.
So it wasn’t all about the whips and chains, ok?