Tonight at dinner, after a conversation about what we were eating, I followed a rather long train of thought that led to the details of a Terry Pratchett novel. And I asked my husband, "So, how long has it been since we've seen Leonard of Quirm?"
Without hesitation he answered, "Not since The Last Hero." And a moment later. "You know, that wasn't a sequitur."
Last night, while strolling around the neighborhood and talking about our vacation plans, we started talking about hotel selection criteria. Both of us are veteran travelers, and have had a wide variety of travel experiences--some quite...odd.
Him (on his worst hotel experience): To call it decrepit would be missing out on a perfectly good application of the word 'skanky'.
Me: I think the worst place I ever stayed was (name deleted) in Chicago. Hopefully it's as close as I'll ever get to being incarcerated. I think it was the steel doors, lack of windows and concrete block construction.
Him: Did it have denizons?
Me: I didn't find out. I went inside, closed my steel door, locked all five deadbolts and went to sleep.
Him: So how was the restaurant?
Me: I didn't eat there.
Him: If you had ordered a bagel, would it have caught fire*?
Me: Probably. It could be the start of a whole new rating system. Did your bagel catch fire? Did anything catch fire? If something did catch fire, did any hotel staff try to assist you?
Him: You mean, did any hotel staff notice?
*It may help to know that I once ordered a bagel in Cleveland. It caught fire in the toaster. The staff did not notice. I pointed it out (four-inch high flames engulfing half the bagel must not have been very attention-getting). Evidently, it wasn't all that unusual, since the clerk simply extinguished it before giving it to me. I don't blame Cleveland.