You might recall that we were in Phoenix last week, ultimately forgoing our planned trip to the Grand Canyon due to some unfortunate puking incidents. You know, it's never really a holiday unless someone is barfing, right?
Pete is back in Phoenix again this week. We joked about the hotel forcing him back into the same room we had last week, Suite 666. [Not really, but that would be a pretty cool room number, eh?]
Instead, upon check-in the other day, the Hilton employee inquired as to the health and well being of our children. Pete indicated that all was well on the home front, and he again apologized (profusely) and expressed (profound) pity for the poor souls who had to do extra duty to exorcise the stench from the room.
No, no, no. It is Hilton and its vast empire who feels so bad for us. So, let's upgrade Pete -- free of charge, natch -- to the presidential suite. And let's tell him that he must bring the family back to stay in the presidential suite -- free of charge, natch -- soon.
Huh? Pete's staying in a suite he describes as "bigger than our house" after our kids puked all over the last suite we stayed in there? Huh?
I suspect CSI's involvement here. Bits of shrimp. Shreds of grilled cheese. A bit of creme brulee. Small vomit particles, really, but enough for the team to solve the mystery. [Well, the particles and the receipt.]
Yes, we dined in one of the hotel's restaurants the evening of the great puke-fest. No, I am not convinced the boys got sick from the food there. In fact, that never really crossed my mind. But I betcha it crossed Hilton's minds.
No complaints from them about the 1 a.m. housekeeping call to trade out three comforters and sheet sets and towels for new ones. No complaints about the stench left, even after thorough cleaning by moi, Pete and the maid the next day.
What do you say, CBS, do you see a new CSI in the making?