I was a painfully shy, naive bride with apparently bad research skills. I’d never really seen a man full-on naked, and I had limited intimate knowledge of too much else. I learned the hard way that not all honeymoon suites are created equal.
We got married young, both of us still in school with no money, no plans beyond finishing school. Didn’t know what we didn’t know and no one could tell us. Livin’ on love. Hopped up on birth control pills, we had the world by the tail!
I booked a honeymoon suite sight unseen. All honeymoon suites are created equal, right? They all looked fairly comparable in the yellow pages (dating myself right there aren’t I? This was obviously before online reviews).
We were stereotypical students. We had no money for anything, let alone a wedding. I had done gardening in exchange for dressmaking, the hall rental was $50 (yay for small towns), the flowers were donated, the church was free, the organist was the mother of a friend, and the official only asked for a donation. I booked the cheapest honeymoon room I could find.
We arrived with faces aching from smiling so much, exhausted and nervous. Did you know a motel and a hotel aren’t the same things? Yeah, you can see where this is going, right?
We were shown how to work the jets on the tub and left to ourselves. Wow – nervous. The only thing I could see was the gigantic bed in the middle of the room covered in faux leopard fur. At least the bed wasn’t coin operated, I’d have probably turned around and run home if it had been. Then I looked up. There was a giant, full-size-of-the-bed mirror glued to the ceiling over the bed. I hadn’t known that was possible. At first, I marveled at the feat of engineering until the implications of said fixture hit me. There was not one corner of the bed where you could hide from that thing – I checked.
I suggested we try out the tub. That seemed a safe place to start. It’s funny how you don’t talk a lot when you’re that nervous. We filled the tub and got the jets running. Everything was going according to plan. The tension drained away in the massaging hot water. I relaxed. I could do this. No big deal. We started talking, laughing together. I remembered that I’d decided he was worth all this nervous energy.
Then the jets stopped.
No more bubbles.
Just calm, very clear water.
A W K W A R D
We could not get the jets working again. So, there we sat. Not talking.
Finally, he convinced me to abandon the tub. Of course there’s no TV in the room to distract you from what you’re supposed to be doing. Light from the neon signs outside the room (yes *head hits desk* it was THAT kind of motel) streamed in the windows even with the curtains closed. Not nearly dark enough to hide from that horrible mirror.
The 18hour drive back to school was nice, felt a little surreal to actually be married, and we had no buyer’s remorse. We didn’t go back to our apartment, but right to the camp where we were to stay for the week. It was owned by my husband’s aunt, and she’d offered it to us for free. We were all about free. My husband had shared glowing childhood memories of the family camp, of jumping off the dock, campfires, and such. I was expecting a Muskoka paradise.
Now in Southern Ontario a camp and cottage are pretty much synonymous. We’re talking electricity, indoor plumbing, pristine dock, and the like. Turns out a camp in Northwestern Ontario is a small step above a tent.
Now, I love camping – when I’m prepared for it. Roughing it wasn’t exactly how I pictured spending my honeymoon. Was not a fan of the outhouse. September in Northwestern Ontario is cooler than Southern Ontario, a lot cooler, and the cast-iron stove made my allergies flare up. We lasted two days. We retreated to our apartment in town, deciding we wouldn’t tell anyone we were back. We were both missing the first week of school, and were determined to enjoy this supposing it killed us.
Lubricated condoms decorated every doorknob, every light fixture and drawer pull in our apartment. Our shower stall was filled with water balloons. My husband, warrior king to the rescue, taped a steak knife to a broom handle, jumped up on the counter in his underwear, reached over the top of the shower unit and speared all the balloons. The burst balloon bits blocked the drain and flooded the bathroom. Friends had strung bells under our mattress. We found empty condom wrappers in our clothes pockets for months at the most inconvenient times – like dinner with the in-laws. :/
I’ve never been so glad to go back to school in my entire life! I don’t regret anything about our honeymoon, but I’m not interested in reliving it either 🙂
Got a dating fail or honeymoon disaster to share? Heard of one? Has to be true! Leave a note in the comments.
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