London: Réservez, s'il vous plaît

London's calling and we've been slow to get our plans in order. Fab finally accepted the daunting task of finding us a hotel for our upcoming stay in the British capital. He really had no choice in the matter, what with me having absolutely no patience for that sort of thing. I would have settled on the first or second hotel that presented. But not Fab.

Fab has a very clear vision of what he wants in a hotel room. 

In the (almost) seven years we have been together, I have depended on him to find us the best hotel rooms, electronics, restaurants, anything that is reviewed online, really. And he does an amazing job, but at what cost? He will spend hours pouring over forum after forum, reading hundreds of reviews, scouring maps to find the best possible location, amenities and not least importantly, price. Still, I should have known better.

With our departure date looming and no still no thoughtful hotel managers had contacted us to offer their services, something had to be done. Fab began to dutifully disappear into his office every night after dinner. I could hear the gentle click-click-slide of his mouse as he eliminated one hotel after another from his list of contenders, only to reconsider them once again if he found a positive review somewhere else. From time to time, I offered a few words of encouragement:

"Are you gonna make a reservation or what?!?"

He came to bed night after night exhausted, his eyes bloodshot, his spirit broken. I'm the first to admit that Fab does not have it easy with me. But I had to put my foot down when he tried blaming me for his reservation consternation, saying he just wanted me to be happy with our room. The truth of the matter is, he is the one who is almost impossible to please. Then I realized that he was paralyzed by the fear of unwittingly reserving this room: 

Both of us could never fit in that bed.

Upon discovering that Fab was wrestling with such powerful demons, I swung immediately into action, ran to his side and began singing hotel reservation songs of my own invention to urge him on. 

"We're gonna sleep in the street...la la la...gonna get head-lice...gonna get deported...la la la"

"Ré-ser-vez un hôtel s'il vous plaît! dun dun dun dun..."

"What's a matter ba-bay? Why can't you make a reservation? It's so easy to do de de dee de do do do..."

I really think this helped, because he FINALLY made a reservation: 

I thought this moment needed to be immortalized.

Thank god for the "free cancelation" policy of the hotel he finally settled on, or I might still be sitting next to him singing helpful little ditties. Fab feels safe knowing he has an out. 

See, Fab is a sensitive guy, and he's haunted by the thought of not getting enough sleep on vacation. That and the fear of not having any windows, AND of the windows he so desperately wants not having blackout curtains. He read one review out of hundreds about our tentative hotel having rooms with no windows and now he's sure we'll be sleeping in a cave. Fab is also afraid of too much noise, low ceilings, lumpy pillows, noisy ventilation, bad coffee, bad service, ugly bedspreads, sticky carpet, mysterious odors, anything dirty, no wifi - god save the queen if there is no wifi in our room. Or if we have to pay for it. 

I take the more laissez-faire approach. Let Fab take care of it because we've got a lot to do anyway - we won't be spending much time in our room, of all places! Fab thinks he's going to relax on vacation and sleep in and eat pastries. Wrong. I'll be setting my alarm for 7am everyday and dragging his French derrière out of bed so we can see the Crown Jewels and all that other British stuff. 

We're getting excited about our trip, especially since we will first be spending a few days with dear friends outside of London. I hope Fab will be able to relax and enjoy the beaches at Brighton, but I suspect he'll be looking out into the sea, sucking on a piece of Brighton rock and wondering if he shouldn't make use of his free reservation cancelation after all.