Drew and I enjoyed our anniversary weekend last weekend. It was exactly the weekend I had been hoping for. Relaxing with my hubby in a nice hotel room, with a little bit of fun (racing around in our rented convertible)…

…and some dressing up for nice dinners. The weekend showed me a glimpse of a lifestyle I am unaccustomed to.

We walked into the big beautiful lobby of Hotel Duval, with chandeliers dangling over the front desk. With the check in girl kissing up to us (“Anything else you need, Mr. Kocur?”) we were soon checked in. We pulled around to the mandatory valet parking, and were met by an over zealous bellhop. We walked into our trendy room on the 4th floor. There was a nice window with a good view.

Oh, and with Starbucks in the room. Who can ask for more?

At dinner in the fancy steakhouse, we were yet again greeted by name (“Good evening Mr. Kocur!”) and when they brought Drew’s steak to the table, they shined a little flashlight onto it to make sure it was cooked to his liking. Wow.

When we went to breakfast one morning, I received jam for my whole wheat toast. I didn’t just get the little plastic single serving of jam. Oh no. I got my very own mini jar.

I soon discovered how “out of our league” I felt. At first, when Drew said he had rented a Mustang convertible for the weekend, I thought it was kind of frivolous, since we weren’t going out of town. However, with the mandatory valet parking, it all of a sudden seemed like a great idea. Rather than pulling up in one of our clunker vehicles, the valet zoomed around the corner in our Mustang. “Why yes,” I’d seem to say as I strutted toward the vehicle. “That is my car. And oh yes, you can get the door for me.”

Once, as we were pulling in, a valet walked toward my door to open it for me. Now, I am totally capable of opening the door myself, but I was starting to get used to this treatment, so I thought, “Sure, I’ll let him get the door for me!” I sat back and relaxed. He tugged on the handle, but the door was still locked. Drew was already halfway out of the car, so I went to unlock the door. I hit the window instead, and the window shot up and down while I fumbled with the buttons. Feeling like an idiot, I finally discovered the unlock button. The valet was very nice as he smiled kindly, and said, “You found the window!” I laughed nervously and said, “It’s a rental!” totally giving away the fact that I was a faker. Drew asked me as we walked inside, “Did you get his number?” to which I muttered, “Shut up.”

So maybe I’m not quite used to the rich lifestyle, but that’s okay. Drew commented, “You can take the girl out of the trailer park, but you can’t take the trailer park out of the girl!” That’s a bit of an exaggeration, but I did tell Drew I often feel like a country hick when I’m in big fancy hotels. I showed proof of that when we went up to the top floor for drinks one afternoon. I got the bartender’s new invention: The Raspberry Smash. It was fruity and yummy, great for a hot afternoon.

Of course, I had to show my ghetto roots by digging out the raspberries from the bottom of the glass with a fork.

*sigh* Oh well. At least it was fun while it lasted.