Guess who isn't at Burning Man right now? Right. Apparently there were some logistical issues so the RV is being set up onsite now, finally and we're flying in tonight, so in the meantime I get to lie upside down on a huge bed in a clean 5-star hotel room in Vegas (not even Reno) and indulge in their gold-plated wifi.
I was a little horrified, as I didn't bring clothes for Vegas but Caleb smiled just a little and told me I didn't need any and he's already riling up everyone by taking over everything even though this is Batman's operation.
Right.
They're both here.
We have a block of rooms in the hotel and because they all technically hate each other but we're creatures of habit we figured out how to unlock the doors between the rooms so it's like being at home save for the fact that here a man in a morning coat shows up to pour me champagne four or five times a day, call me Mrs. C____, draw me a bath and turn the bed down, leaving chocolates and flowers on the pillows.
Which Ben eats all of. Yes, the flowers too.
Not sure I really need to go anywhere else but also I feel like I might already be missing things at Burning Man.
To pass the time August has suggested we figure out our playa names. His is...August.
Oh, I get it. Mine is...wait for it. Bridget.
No, it has to be something anonymous.
Neamhchiontach. Caleb says it softly. He'd rather I not bond with August over this. We have enough that we've bonded over and he's trying to make this event all his.
Too long. Hard to say. August rolls his eyes.
You have to choose one too, Diabhal.
How about asshole? August is poking the bunny now. Jesus, boys. Keep it together. Don't you dare wreck this for me.
I hear that's taken. Caleb winks at me. I need to borrow you.
More champagne?
No, some clothes.
He's had a few outfits delivered, shoes included. God. He probably should have been a stylist. Everything's perfect. Nothing is scratchy. Everything's flowery-fall and cute. Except the shoes. He insists on stilettos. I insist I'm not wearing them ever again so I opt for barefoot shenanigans and he relents finally and my boots (still clean so far to my dismay) make the outfits more Tank Girl, less Pretty Woman.
Fine by me.
We're going to go for a very early dinner and then the plane is leaving. If I post again this week please kill me. He says we'll have wifi but I don't think I want it. He says he'll make sure I want for nothing but I don't want that either.
I was a little horrified, as I didn't bring clothes for Vegas but Caleb smiled just a little and told me I didn't need any and he's already riling up everyone by taking over everything even though this is Batman's operation.
Right.
They're both here.
We have a block of rooms in the hotel and because they all technically hate each other but we're creatures of habit we figured out how to unlock the doors between the rooms so it's like being at home save for the fact that here a man in a morning coat shows up to pour me champagne four or five times a day, call me Mrs. C____, draw me a bath and turn the bed down, leaving chocolates and flowers on the pillows.
Which Ben eats all of. Yes, the flowers too.
Not sure I really need to go anywhere else but also I feel like I might already be missing things at Burning Man.
To pass the time August has suggested we figure out our playa names. His is...August.
Oh, I get it. Mine is...wait for it. Bridget.
No, it has to be something anonymous.
Neamhchiontach. Caleb says it softly. He'd rather I not bond with August over this. We have enough that we've bonded over and he's trying to make this event all his.
Too long. Hard to say. August rolls his eyes.
You have to choose one too, Diabhal.
How about asshole? August is poking the bunny now. Jesus, boys. Keep it together. Don't you dare wreck this for me.
I hear that's taken. Caleb winks at me. I need to borrow you.
More champagne?
No, some clothes.
He's had a few outfits delivered, shoes included. God. He probably should have been a stylist. Everything's perfect. Nothing is scratchy. Everything's flowery-fall and cute. Except the shoes. He insists on stilettos. I insist I'm not wearing them ever again so I opt for barefoot shenanigans and he relents finally and my boots (still clean so far to my dismay) make the outfits more Tank Girl, less Pretty Woman.
Fine by me.
We're going to go for a very early dinner and then the plane is leaving. If I post again this week please kill me. He says we'll have wifi but I don't think I want it. He says he'll make sure I want for nothing but I don't want that either.