Marriottish

What can I say? A spa suite, no less. Gorgeous view over the fourteenth hole of the Newport Beach Country Club all the way to the Pacific. Catalina Island shimmering on the horizon. Very La-La Land. Pampered.

But wait. The rooms have the appearance of plush elegance. Until you start unpacking. Whoops. The light for the large closet and its foyer 'dressing room' is far far away. By the front door.

And hey what's this? Gorgeous evening clothes lined up with choices of glamorous shoes. Silky 3 inch sandals. Or lizard high tony pointy pumps. But wait. Nope. No full length mirror. My mom and I taking turns aiming the 8X magnifying mirror in the bathroom to the floor and then scanning our torsos to see which works. What a hoot.

Even the bathroom in all its marble and gold chrome splendor has no towel racks. Not one. Oh yay. Next to the tub is a tiny hook to drape a nightgown and peignoir set falling ever so gracefully hiding the light switch and dimmer. Not sure where to put the not-so-plush bath towels. But this'll work. I'll hide the damp ones under the marbleized vanity until the morning. Then pop them out to be whisked away. Ingenious, if I do say so myself. And it is a suite after all. I am rolling in clover. Kind of.

Let me check out the mini-bar. Take inventory of the goodies safely stowed on those cool, well stocked shelves. Nums. Late night treats of the candy and liquid varieties. After hour munchies and spirits ... no last calls here. But hey! Where is that bad boy? Found the safe on the floor. That's needed. But no tiny fridge. Oh ... there it is. In the desk cabinet. It's empty. WTF? Not sure what I am supposed to chill. Meds? Nail polish? Sadly not wine or mixers. There is nary a grocery or package store to be found in all of Fashion Island.

A bit Marriottish, if you ask me. Cheers ... pour this girl a drink!