Most mornings I’ve been wandering down the dirt path that leads from my hotel to a place nearby for a big breakfast dubbed “The Canadian”: two slices of yummy French toast swimming in butter and syrup and two eggs cooked any way you want. I'm trying to find out what the upper limit of cholesterol really is.
The owner and I have struck up an acquaintanceship, and usually he sits at my table and chats while I gorge myself like a boa constrictor unhinging its lower jaw to eat a chicken. He’s been telling me the ongoing saga of the "hotel guest from hell" who has been his nemesis for the past month. He’s kicking himself because he should have known better, given the 37 e-mails she sent him prior to her arrival, inquiring about everything from what the “quality of light’ would be in her room to whether or not she should bring an umbrella (during the rainy season in Honduras!!)
He feels like he’s bent over backwards to accommodate her, but he’s at the end of his rope. Today he learned from another guest that before she left, Miss Sourpuss was trying to give away a complimentary bottle of wine that was in her room when she arrived. She had consumed the other bottle, but didn’t want to leave the remaining one behind “after the way she’d been treated”. The intended recipient politely declined her offer.
Turns out the bottle of "wine" she drank was actually a decorative bottle of tap water with pink food coloring that had been sitting there for about a year. Like they say..."What goes around comes around", and something tells me this one’s gonna be coming around for the next several days.
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