The One About the Wet Stucco, or Her Quest For a Postcard

I was just going to be all mysterious about the wet stucco, because it is really a fairly lame story, but Pete, this one's for you. I stopped in SANTA NELLA, which is the town with "whatever the heck travelers want" or whatever their misrepresentation of a motto is (which location, by the way, no one guessed except my mom), and the Skipster and I went to three different truck stops looking for a single non-offensive, missionary-appropriate postcard. Do you think they would have anything like that? No. The answer is no. No they do not. They had pornographic magazines, model semi-trucks that were so large they might have been 1:4 scale, Dr. Phil CD boxed sets, cigars from a vending machine, "fresh" almonds with an expiration date from 1995 (I actually bought those, because on Tuesday Bob from The Biggest Loser said that I need to keep "power snacks" handy. He recommended almonds. It was an unfortunate mistake, as I didn't look for the expiration date until after I actually ingested some of the almonds), as well as all kinds of really cool auto parts for very large vehicles. I was informed by Manny, Moe and Jack at each location that no one sends postcards anymore. They just e-mail. Thus the free Wi-fi. Thanks guys.

Now I have spent 30 minutes searching for a postcard. I didn't want to stay any longer in that armpit of a pit stop, so I crossed the freeway and drove to the Ramada Inn in the picture (which does, indeed, have a guitar-shaped swimming pool. I know, because I have swum in it). Skippy and I got out of the car and walked up to the front entry. There was a maintenance man taping off pillars, and there was a big sign that said, "Please Pardon Our Dust. We Are Remodeling, Expanding and Modernizing." Awesome. We peered in, and it didn't look promising, but I was on a mission. I had to find a single postcard. Non-offensive was becoming negotiable... and shocker! The girl at the counter said, "Yes, right here. They're free." At this point I should have stocked up, since I would not find another postcard the rest of the day. But then for the next four days, Elder H would be getting the same Ramada Santa Nella postcard.

So I walked out with my prize. I triumphantly affixed my See-Threepio stamp, and then stood next to the USPS box right outside the hotel, addressing furiously. I looked up, and saw that Skippy, being the adventurous boy that he is, had scaled to the upper wall of a long bench-like shelf that ran around the whole courtyard. The level he was standing on dropped off about six feet straight down behind him, so I dropped the postcard and ran to help him step down. I told him to play on the bench part while I finished the card, and I sat down beside him so I could do just that. But I set my hand down, and the stucco bench was wet. My hand was covered with a light brown goo that was sort of a cross between paint and concrete. Ahh, a perfect match for my pants. Skippy had been playing all over the wet stucco, and now it has my butt print. Thanks, Ramada. And here is a sign for you: "Please Pardon My Butt During Construction. I Am Currently Remodeling, Downsizing and Modernizing."