Nightmare at the Inn

I made hotel reservations at the last minute in order to attend a family reunion in Scranton.

You might be wondering – Why would someone so competent, who’s usually on top of things, wait until the last minute to make hotel reservations when she knew about the reunion for months ahead of time?

I’ll tell you.

For the longest time, we had plans to stay with Great Aunt Edna.* Thinking about our week of travel leading up to the reunion, I was looking forward to stopping at her house and using real toilet paper. Aunt Edna even has pillows that don’t smell like bleach.

Unfortunately, two weeks before the reunion, her son Myron*, my third cousin twice removed, came home from his backpacking trip down the Appalachian Trail with two communicable diseases and an unfortunate rash near his bottom right lip.

We immediately started calling hotels in the Scranton area, only to discover all the decent shit was booked. Apparently, Himself* planned the reunion the same weekend as three conventions and a NASCAR event.

After several days and a dozen phone calls, we got the last remaining room at the last hotel in the area that had any vacancies – the Dunmore Days Inn.

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