A steamy love letter to the humble yet hedonistic hotel bathrobe
Katie H. Sweeney
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A steamy love letter to the humble yet hedonistic hotel bathrobePhoto illustration: SFGATE/evemilla/Getty Images
There are many things that I miss about traveling. I miss the excited butterflies fluttering in my stomach as I look out the window of an airplane making its descent into a foreign land. I miss walking out of an airport and breathing in the fresh hot air of an exotic locale, so different from the brisk coolness of the Bay Area. I miss the first moments of experiencing an unknown place: a new landscape and language beckoning me with sounds and scents, inviting me to lose myself on a journey. I miss the newness of travel, the museums and mosques, the rooftop restaurants and the breathtaking views. But the thing I miss the most, the thing that I think about and crave, the thing I can’t believe I spent my entire life taking for granted, is the humble yet luxurious hotel
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It’s unanimous: Everyone I’ve spoken with was happy to stay home for Thanksgiving. No, Aunt Betsy, it’s not that I don’t love seeing you and our family and eating your great food. It’s just that it was nice to not drive, dress up or worry about meeting a deadline for mealtime even though we ended up with leftovers stretching out before us like Hadrian’s Wall.