“Is the Jungle Room available?” I ask as I push my cash and ID in the little concave slot under that bulletproof glass.
I look to my left as I’m standing there waiting for my room key and staring down at me is an autographed picture of Vince Vaughn. It’s as if Vince is giving his blessing to all of us shady singles renting an hourly room. The sparkle in his eye is the knowledge that the hourly rooms are only needed for about 37 minutes. His toothy, ultra-white smile is wide and you can hear him in your head chuckling and saying “Go get ’em hot mama!”.
Right next to Vince’s glossy headshot is a magazine rack full of travel brochures for Temple Bay Lodge in Ontario, Canada -of all places. I’ve spent at least a week of every summer of my life on that lake in Canada. I feel at home here at this crazy back roads no-tell motel.
I tell the clerk behind the bulletproof glass to throw in a bag of skittles and a 7-Up with the price of the Jungle Room.
I’m not going to go into details as what happened behind the door of that mirrored Jungle Room, but suffice it say, I leave satisfied and tousled while throwing skittles in my mouth as I leave the room to turn in the key.
This is just an hour in the life of a middle aged divorced woman. That hour is a memorable adventure that she only read about in books- dime store romance novels that hid a young wife’s unhappiness and longing.
Now, she’s living those moments and sharing bits of them with you.
You really should try the mirrored Jungle Room. Rawwwr!