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The
whole concept of a bed and breakfast is pretty ingenious and fits
almost perfectly with my lifestyle. In fact, the words "bed" and
"breakfast" are fair representations of my favorite activities,
namely eating, sleeping and eating. I only wish I could reinvent
the idea and call it "bed and breakfast food eaten in the early
afternoon" since my wife and I both identify as late sleepers and,
on most Saturdays, are finishing our pancakes at around 2:00 p.m.
Speaking of my wife, who would prefer that I leave her out of this,
we spent our wedding night in a historical bed and breakfast in
Jefferson, Texas.
The most memorable aspect of our stay—other than my relief
that she actually went through with the wedding—was what has
become known as "The Bathtub Plug Incident." Now, before you let
your imaginations get carried away, let me explain.
Our honeymoon suite featured an antique, clawfoot bathtub with brass
fittings, into which I was looking forward to performing my most
romantic cannonball after swamp-soaking my penguin suit throughout
the wedding ceremony on a sweltering East
Texas August's eve. Unfortunately, in our post-wedding delirium,
we couldn't locate the tub's antique drain plug.
Sporting my luxurious rented bathrobe, I crept downstairs to the
owners' quarters and lightly knocked on the partitioning French
doors. When they opened, a bleary-eyed fellow appeared—enveloped
by billows of pungent smoke. Now, I'm not 100% positive about the
source of the fumes, but let's just say that this guy probably had
a raging case of the munchies.
After I very slowly and deliberately explained my dilemma, the owner
stumbled up the stairs, into our room and over to the bathtub where
he pointed to the brass drain plug resting in and camouflaged by
the brass soap dish, peered at me suspiciously with his mouth hanging
slightly open and simply said, "Dude."
Needless to say, hilarity and cannonballs ensued.
Recently, my wife and I decided to relive the whole bed and breakfast
experience—minus the stoned proprietor—at the charming
Brazos Bed and Breakfast, a countryside cottage suite in Washington,
Texas, a short drive from Texas A&M University where our eldest
and most expensive daughter attends. We thought it would be nice
to have some peace and quiet out in the country while also being
close enough to go watch the Aggie football team run out of time-again-and
visit our daughter so she could ask for money in person.
(Incidentally, the nearby Washington-on-the-Brazos
Historic Site is where the Texas Declaration of Independence
was signed in 1836, and I'm pretty sure the armadillo was designated
as the official roadkill of the new republic.)
And speaking of armadillos, upon our arrival, the owner warned us
about the electric fence encircling the picturesque property just
off the ground in order to keep the nocturnal creatures from having
pasture parties and breaking in to use the bidet.
Yes, there was a bidet! I'd never used a bidet before and wasn't
sure exactly how it worked, but I did give the opposite bathroom
wall a thorough pressure washing.
Despite having to get up before noon to eat, the breakfasts were
ample and delicious. The cordial owner served breakfast in our suite
and reminded us, "Don't ever feel like you have to eat everything.
We have chickens, and they love leftovers!"
My only thought was whether or not we could eat the chickens, too.
Although I would have liked a little more bed to go with the breakfast,
we had a wonderful trip. I'm even thinking about purchasing a clawfoot
tub for our own house someday—right after I figure out how
to install the bidet.
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