Confessions of a B&B Virgin

I don’t know what I was thinking when I made the reservation for that Bed & Breakfast. I guess I thought it would be romantic and quaint, and the fact that it would likely be the only weekend of the year that my husband and I wouldn’t have the kids probably factored into my decision. So we said goodbye to the national motel chain (where kids eat free and you’d better have an appointment with your chiropractor scheduled the following week) and hello to a charming, historic B&B.

As my husband rang the inn’s front doorbell, I plopped down into a chaise lounge on the massive, Victorian-era front porch and enjoyed the warm breeze coming off the bay.

The innkeeper, a precious woman not quite five feet tall, quickly appeared donning a blue cook’s apron and a wide, friendly grin.

“I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to ring the bell, uh, I mean the door was locked and, uh, are you open yet?” my poor husband rambled … clueing the innkeeper into our lack of B&B experience.

“You must be Steve,” the woman said with a smirk. “Where Suzanne?”

“I’m right here,” I managed to say (which was difficult because the cushions on the chaise lounge had almost swallowed me whole). And to be honest, I was a little thrown that she knew exactly who we were BEFORE we flashed our credit card. I mean, what ELSE did she know?!

Maybe this is a good time to explain something … my husband and I are weird. You might even call us hermits. On the weekends, we draw the blinds and hunker down, just our two young boys and us. We rarely go out with other couples and NEVER go on vacation with other families. We’ve heard about people who do that, but can’t for the life of us figure out why.

Now don’t get me wrong … we LOVE a good party and I don’t have any plans to author an anti-social manifesto as of yet. But as life seems to get busier and busier, when we ARE able to carve out a little “alone” time we’re terribly territorial with it.