More.

It has been brought to my attention that I left a couple of things out of yesterday's post.

With the news regarding our expected new addition to the family, my wife has been quite persuasive regarding my need to lose the weight I've gained since we got married.

I thought--hey, Days Inn has a swimming pool, right?! I'll swim some laps each day and exercise like that.

Hmm. It is a sweet sweet fantasy world in which I live. Perhaps one day I will share it with you.

Now, I know I am not that big . . . but I swear to you from up here on the 3rd floor, i am pretty-darned-sure that "swimming pool" is juuuuust barely wide enough for me to swim in. Alone. Very Straight. And as long as I don't splash much.

In fact, its not so much a pool as--perhaps--a, oh I don't know, a crack in the cement? That a stray dog relieved himself in.

And then, I thought--When I am done swimming I can relax in the hot tub and prepare myself for the next day.

Except, of course, that I guess Days Inn has taken the curious view that it might attract more guests by offering a mud bath instead. Straight from the "pool" to the mud to the "pool" again. Great idea. But I have yet to try it and probably won't without someone offering the cucumber slices to place over my eyes. I am guessing that is why no one else has taken advantage of this lovely amenity, either. I am sorry, but I'm just not that adventurous. And the feel of mud squishing into every crevice of my body hasn't really been all that appealing since I was about 10 years old.

So, okay, I say to myself . . . forget the exercise and lets cook some food.

Thinking of the frozen chicken breast and fresh salad I brought with me, as well as the reassuring pronouncement on the Days Inn website that "dishes and pots and pans are available upon request" . . .

I called down to the front desk.

Front Desk: Front Desk

Mr. Misery: Yeah, uh, there are a couple of things I need. I need batteries for this remote so I can sit my lazy butt down and not have to worry about the 3 foot walk to the t.v. And I need pots, pans, and dishes to cook my chicken so as to chow down while doing nothing.

Front Desk: We don't provide dishes and pans.

Mr. Misery: Pardon?

Front Desk: We don't provide those for you. You do.

Mr. Misery: Uh, yeeeeah, you haven't by any chance read your website lately have you?

Front Desk: No, sir.

Mr. Misery: Well it is under the mistaken impression that these things are provided.

Front Desk: I don't know nothing about that, sir, but (if it will make you shut up) I can look.

After a return call and a promise she'd found pots and batteries, I walk to the lobby.

Front Desk: Here are your pots and pans. We don't have any dishes.

Have you ever heard the phrase: "He doesn't have a pot to piss in." Well, if it was missing, I found it.

Mr. Misery: Uh, yeeeah, I don't know about this. How about the batteries?

At this point I was now to tired to eat and thought I'd go straight to being lazy.

Front Desk: Let me see your remote. Here you go. Do you know the code?

Mr. Misery: Uh, nooooo, I don't think so.

Front Desk: You mean you don't know how to program a code into a remote????

And now she's looking at me as if I am the stupid one here.

Mr. Misery: Oh, yeah. Thanx.

She just changed the batteries. Not the remote. It didn't need a code, freakin' Marie Curie!

When I got back to my room I logged on to the internet to check the website again. Apparently I forgot to read the fine print.

Dishes and Pots and Pans Available Upon Request At Walmart . . . sucker.