A Tale of Two Hotels

This is a tale of two hotels, a tale that much represents the difference between J-Fed and I.

Now, it’s been almost 72 hours since J-Fed checked into the Heartbreak Hotel down the street with all seven bags in tow. As he rolled each piece of luggage out to his SUV, handpacked by me, three things occurred to me. Fact #1: He had more crap than a department store. Fact #2: I was only punishing myself. Fact #3: He was actually enjoying the fact he was being booted out of the house.

As I watched him drive away, I could almost see a mile-wide grin spread across his face. It’s as if he was silently taunting, “nanny, nanny, boo, boo, you’re about to be up to your eyes in doo doo.” And he was right. I had completely and totally cut off my nose to spite my face. You see, if I had thought about things logistically, I would have waited seven more days when the new nanny came to stay with us. Then I would have kicked him to the curb.

But oh no, Kiki just could not get past J-Fed’s pissing party. He had to go… and he had to go now. I was going to teach him a lesson if it killed me, I told myself. It wasn’t 20 minutes before J-Fed was gone that I realized the joke was on me. As I scampered around the house bathing children, cooking dinner, feeding dogs, it occurred to me that I had given J-Fed everything he wanted.

While he was kicking back at the hotel, motel, Holiday Inn, I was once again up to my ass in everything. Truth be told, I could have used the minute amount of help that he did contribute on occasion. Even if it was a burp here or a diaper there, it was something. But here I’d gone and given him the boot and I was all alone. J-Fed meanwhile was sitting in a nice cushy hotel watching a Law & Order marathon, sucking down Frap after Frap.