This is why men can't be in charge.........

Today Jeff and I are heading off to an overnight getaway to a cute little Bavarian town a couple hours from here. When he first mentioned it, I thought it sounded like a nice little road trip, just the two of us, in a quaint little town that I happen to enjoy a lot.

But of course there was a catch. The REASON for this trip (because, you know, there has to be a REASON.....who goes on spontaneous getaways just for the sake of romance? Psh!) is that Jeff has a Trout Unlimited meeting. Yeah, trout. Fish. A fish club of sorts. Or a political organization. Or something. Anyway, he's the secretary and that alone cracks me up. So, basically, I'm tagging along for company in the car and because there's a free hotel room in it for us. (Wink, wink!)

Except......at this particular moment, the morning of the trip, we are not sure which hotel we're staying in. Because Jeff made the reservation. And he can't remember. Because he pays no attention to details. Thankfully, there are only a handful of hotels in this small town, but this means we will have to do some detective work to track it down. He "thinks" the number he called is on a sticky note attached to his credit card. Of course. Excellent filing system.

So, I asked him, "Is this hotel a dive or what?" and he replied "Well, yeah, I mean, they usually pick kind of divey hotels - like it's not the Hyatt!" Um.......

So I'm not too particular, but I do enjoy a clean hotel room. One without bedbugs. That doesn't charge by the hour. With no hair wads in the shower, or used condoms behind the bed (true story). One with no stale Cheerios on the ground that my toddler eats immediately upon arrival ('nother true story). Ok, I'm a little bit picky.

But seriously? He cannot remember which hotel we're staying in? Or if it's skeevy? And he's perfectly fine to just drive up there and wander around until we find it. I need to KNOW. I need a PLAN.

While packing, he was careful to pack a shirt from a race that Trout Unlimited sponsored. He said it would make "that guy" happy to see he was wearing it. "That guy" from the race, who we talked to for a long time, who he's seen multiple times at meetings......."that guy" with a name he can't remember. Whaatt? Details.

We are having guests next week - a bunch of my family members who are traveling nine hours to attend my daughter's graduation. This means nine extra people in the house, which means some shuffling and planning for who is going to sleep where, etc. In the big scheme of plans, this involves purchasing a queen-size bed for our ever-growing son who has outgrown his twin size captain's bed. My husband has conveniently planned a "guys only" camping trip during the last two crucial days before "Zero Day" when the family arrives, extending one day into their visit.Which means he will likely not be around for bed procurement, moving furniture, cleaning the house.....the details. I know, grounds for divorce, right?

But he promises me he'll do all the things necessary before he leaves. Like the heavy lifting, heavy cleaning, and "whatever else" needs to be done. What he doesn't realize are all the small details that go into planning for such an event - the graduation party, the actual graduation, the fact that we're having a house full of guests  for the first time in.....ever. He says, "Just tell me what needs to be done!" And to his credit, he will do it. But it is I who attends to the details.

If I had made the hotel reservations for this weekend, I would have shopped around. I would have compared prices, paid attention to the little extras, printed a confirmation.....you know, the details!

So, we're off to the mystery hotel. It's only one night and I spent one memorable night at a $59-a-night TravelLodge in La Grande, OR in a snowstorm with my entire family of six crammed into a room that barely held two double beds and may or may not have had a used feminine product on the floor when we arrived. We laughed, we cried, we hit the road so fast in the morning we didn't even partake of the stale danish and nasty coffee in the lobby. I can handle it. I can.

But just in case, I'm packing the Lysol.