I need to go to Las Vegas. No, seriously, I really do.
It’s research for the newest book I’m working on. I already had parts of the LV scenes written from when I began this story many moons ago. Simply put, they blew. I knew I needed to go see Vegas for myself. I needed inspiration. I needed to gorge myself at buffets. I needed for no one else to ever, ever, read my previous attempts at those Las Vegas scenes. Ever.
So I convinced my husband to take a roadtrip to Sin City with me. I looked up hotel deals on my favorite travel site. On Thursday, January 24, I booked a lovely, very inexpensive room at the Monte Carlo, complete with two complimentary buffet coupons (How I do love me the deals). The next day my husband IMs me a link very similar to this one:
Yes, one day I make reservations at a hotel, the next day it’s BURNING!
Our reservation is in six days.
“Do you think this is a sign?” I ask my husband. He, of course, answers that he does not believe in signs.
A reasonable enough answer. A good one, even, considering that he didn’t want to take this trip in the first place.
But still. . .