What a Bad Hotel Room Taught Me About My Marriage

I took the cramped hotel elevator down to the front desk to complain about our room.

“Some spoons on our wall are missing.”

“I’m sorry, sir?”

“The spoons nailed to the wall in our room. I see one, but there are empty hooks where other spoons are supposed to go.” I showed the clerk a photo I’d just taken. Trish thought the previous guests may have stolen the other spoons to do drugs.

The clerk seemed confused and said, “I don’t think I can get you more spoons at this hour.”

“I don’t want any more spoons,” I said. “I just didn’t want you to think I’m a spoon thief.”

“No sir, I imagine not.”

Trish and I checked into a “historic” New York hotel. The website photos were promising, but we didn’t spend enough time looking at the reviews.

The room was large and weird. On the wall opposite the missing spoons was a picture hook with no picture. The dim yellow lighting made everything jaundiced rather than cozy. And the radiator squealed like a leaky balloon.

Trish finds something to like in almost everyone and everything. After 30 years, I’ve learned that’s less annoying than it is useful. She looked around smiling, “What a fun quirky room.”

“Mm-hmm,” I managed.

“It’s only a few nights,” she said. “But if you want, I can find us another place.” Trish’s New York meetings were only two blocks away, which is why she picked this hotel. She had a packed schedule and no time to commute.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” I said, hoping she’d know I was lying and come to her senses. There was a Four Seasons just 20 blocks away. How bad could midtown traffic be at rush hour?

Thirty years ago, when we were first married, I might have loved a place like this. Back then, discomfort felt like adventure.

It’s funny what counts as hardship before you’ve seen any. Before anything real goes wrong.

PLEASE EXCUSE THE INTERRUPTION

Accidental Wisdom isn’t becoming one of those “click here to continue” sites. But AARP published the full essay this week, and I’m genuinely excited about it. They kindly let me share the opening with you here.

I’ll be back in two weeks with a new essay—the entire thing—unless The New Yorker jumps the gun.

In the meantime, here’s the link to the rest of the essay.