They tell me the first clue should have been when I fell getting out of bed. Again and again. By the way, I do not recommend sitting on a toilet and falling off toward the tub.
Fortunately, my training as an athlete — having played as much golf as I have — saved me.
I’m told I should have dialed 911. That’s funny. Marriott hotels do not have telephones between toilet and tub. And I’m a platinum member and usually get one of the better rooms.
By the way, I understand the true meaning of being a lifetime platinum member. It means there’s a good chance you might die in a hotel room.
I would have called the Bagger, who lives here, but while I was coming here, the son-in-law was taking the family to Disneyland. A spur-of-the-moment thing.
Reminded me of Angry Arte. I go one way, he goes the other.
As I contemplated life on the floor between toilet and tub, just knowing they clean their bathroom floors a lot more than the wife brought me a certain peace.
Eventually I rode the walls back to bed and decided I wouldn’t cover the Dodgers in the morning. I thought that would make me feel better.
Posted: March 19, 2013 at 12:14 AM | 19 comment(s)
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