Room with an Oooh...

The first time I visited New York City, I was nothing less than alarmed by the size of my hotel room. Though my company had paid for it, I knew how much it cost, and so I stood in the doorway puzzled for several minutes looking for the handle that would let me out of the closet and into my actual room.

Once I let go of the disappointment of opening my window to a view of a brick wall on all sides and the pain of bashing my knees on the shower wall every time I sat on the toilet, I came to accept that this was it. After all, if you're in New York City, you aren't spending any time in your room anyway, I reasoned.

I let that first experience feed my expectations for all of my subsequent trips, and never winced again.

Then today happened. When I checked in, the concierge offered to upgrade me to a better room for a fee, and even though it sounded lovely, I declined it, keeping in mind my earlier rationale. Then, what seemed to be on a whim, he upgraded me for free. (Methinks the room was mine all along because it was what all that was available and I kind of unwittingly played hardball. Nice.)

When I stepped into this room, I knew I was spoiled (by this City's standards, anyway) forever. I can lie in bed and not simultaneously touch the walls on either side.

It has a bathtub and spa-style shower with seating. I'm standing on said seating for this shot:

Can you see in the background two--two!--chairs?

The toilet is in a different room. Its own room. And I can pace, if I need to, more than four steps without having to turn around. 

This is really an ordinary hotel room, but because it is here, it feels like luxury. And because of that I feel a little like a princess today.