I got this.
If luxury had a definition, it would be “this.”
I’m not a diva.
I’m a geeky tomboy who likes hoodies, jeans, hockey and football.
I can sure as shit be converted to a diva.
There are crystal wall hangings. Crystal chandeliers. There are leather headboards and a mutha’ freakin’ ORCHID on the writing desk.
There is a Nespresso machine and you don’t have to pay for it. 😀
There is….are you sitting down?!?!?…..
There is a TELEVISION IN THE MIRROR IN THE BATHROOM.
In. The. MIRROR.
Words fail to articulate this kind of thing for a gal who got her single momma self off of welfare taking two diplomas, worked full time, completed an Associate Degree and essentially did everything ass-backwards before finally meeting the man I’d marry in the not-so-distant past and not even having a honeymoon vaycay.
My father is responsible for such a splurge the likes of which have been completely unknown to me.
We’re here for the wedding of my cousin…and the wedding is to be held…HERE at the Tower. 9th Floor. You know it’s going to be luxurious when the wait staff (I’m sure there’s a fancy name for their title, but I don’t know it…cuz I haven’t done this before…EVER) asks where the wedding will be and you say, “Here.” and they get their Mr. Spock eyebrow on and their eyes bug out while telling you, “FanTAStic!”
Last time I was in Toronto was for a high school band trip and we stayed at the Ho-Jo across from the strip club.
That’s it. That’s my #gladitude. It trumps (see what I did there!?!?) everything I’ve endured over the past week of handing my son over to residential…to parent information sessions…to headaches and planning and packing, OH, MY!
I am going to eat this shit up. Every single luxurious moment of it.
Except the M&M’s that probably sell for $7/piece. 😉