Bitching about folks and stuff, continued. PART TWO. (The one where Sam forgets the clothes)

We drove directly from the valet at the hospital (yes, we have Valet parking at the hospital) to the valet at the resort, and I somehow staggered up to the front desk. The nurse had thought to cut off my hospital bracelets when I was discharged, so you would never know I was ill, except for the fact that I was walking doubled over with a limp, and my hand was bleeding from the bruise I got from the IV, my hair was standing on end, and I still had a lede from the heart monitor stuck to my shoulder.

I looked totally normal if normal people look like they just escaped from a hospital/war zone.

I rested both arms and my chin on the front desk and waited for someone to give me a room key.
I might have burped.

We went up to the room and after some confusion with housekeeping I was finally propped up in a lovely bed piled high with white linens, and an amazing view. All ready to recuperate. "You need anything?" Sam asked as the kids ran in circles around the room swatting each other with towels and rash guards. He leaned over and patted my leg sympathetically.

I sensed that this might become a theme of the weekend - Sam hovering in concern while the kids annoyed the shit out of me.

"I need you to leave me alone. I brought you all with me so you would have something  fun to do - not so that you would spend the day with me in this room."

"Um, okay. Geez, how do you really feel?"

"I feel like shit, man. I had my stomach cut open six times last night, and a bunch of stuff scraped out and now I just want to be left alone to clot."

"Right. Nice."

So they left, and I dozed off in front of the tv, waking up occasionally to hit refresh on facebook and check texts. The problem was that I was pretty drugged, and having trouble seeing straight. Eventually I gave up. That night we went downstairs for dinner, and I was nervous about eating. The nurse had assured me I could eat anything within reason, and just suggested I avoid fried or greasy foods.

So naturally I had the BLT Butterfish and the lamb. It was completely reasonable.

The next day I felt like hell, almost as though I had been stabbed repeatedly in the stomach. Go figure. The anesthesia was worn off completely, and I hadn't slept for more than an hour or two at a time since surgery, and that dinner was totally kicking my ass. I was restless and uncomfortable, alternating between pacing the pool area, and pacing our hotel room. Checkout was noon, and Sami wandered upstairs with the kids at 11:45am. As soon as Lucy was dressed, I took her with me and went down to the lobby to deal with the paperwork, leaving Sam in the room to pack up and get Max ready, and then take the bags down to valet and load the car.

We drove the hour home in silence. I was completely exhausted, and high on Vicodan.

Sam brought the bags inside, and asked if he should put the towels and bathing suits in the washing machine.

"Great, yeah, that would be a good idea." I nodded. "Wash them on cold, okay? And maybe put my dress from yesterday in there. Did you stick that in your suitcase or mine?"

"It's in the laundry bag."

"Okay, where's that?"

He stood there.
Deer in the headlights.

"Sam" I said slowly "where is the laundry? Where are our clothes, Sam?"

God bless him, he looked so confused. "Didn't you get them?" he asked.

For a split second I thought maybe I had. And then I remembered that NO I hadn't packed up his dirty laundry. I hadn't packed anything besides my own clothes as I changed out of them, because I had just had my stomach cut open. I had packed all of the clothes to go on the trip And made food. And done laundry. And changed sheets. And cleaned the fucking bathroom. And not for nothing, but I had just provided a completely free weekend in a six star oceanfront resort. But no. No, I hadn't packed up his dirty socks and underwear. My bad.

MY clothes were in my suitcase. Except for this dress that he had so helpfully put in some mythical laundry bag that he was now unable to locate. My eyes narrowed.
That dress was my favorite.
That dress was from Anthropologie.

Someone was going to die.

"Shit." he said.

Indeed.

He called the hotel, and they were able to locate the bag of dirty clothes that he had left on the floor of the hotel room. As I announced later on facebook, the man had zipped an empty suitcase shut and rolled it out of the hotel room. He had taken it downstairs, and put it in the car, and taken it out of the car, and carried it into the house, and it had never even ONCE crossed his mind that perhaps it felt......light. I mean, even taking his obvious brute strength into account, he didn't notice that the bag was empty?

He didn't notice that the bag was empty.

If I thought the drive home was quiet, well....the drive BACK TO THE RESORT was deafening.

"So tell me, at what point did you think that I was responsible for packing anything at the hotel? Was it when I was able to pee without assistance? Maybe when I was finally able to operate my cellphone without you typing the numbers for me because I couldn't see the screen?"

"No, I know, I was supposed to pack. I just forgot about that bag."

"You forgot about "that bag"? That bag had ALL THE CLOTHES. You forgot ALL THE CLOTHES. You did not, in fact, pack ANYTHING. You didn't forget anything. Except everything."

"That is not true."

"It is true!"

"No, I remembered to pack something."

"Really? What? WHAT DID YOU REMEMBER TO PACK?"

"I remembered to pack the toothbrushes."

"The toothbrushes? Really? Do you want to go there, Sam? Are we talking about the same toothbrushes you had to go out and BUY YESTERDAY because you LEFT OUR TOOTHBRUSHES AT HOME?"

"Well, yeah."

"Well then I guess I owe you an apology Sam."

He graciously decided to let it slide.