Posted April 2, 2015 | Filed in LIFE & LOVE |
Legend (truth) has it that the one and only time my parents took me camping as a kid, I asked the park ranger where the room service menu was. I was 7 or 8, I think. My parents realized it was too late. They’d raised a spoiled diva princess. (They were right.) My idea of “camping” is staying at a hotel that doesn’t have a bathtub or turn-down service. I don’t do well without a place to plug my phone and curling iron into. I want a complimentary bathrobe and someone in a tuxedo bringing me food in bed.View Article
