Hi everyone. I am currently writing from the sunny sub-tropical paradise of Noosa, Queensland, located on the aptly named Sunshine Coast. When I woke up this morning, this is the view that greeted me:
I should tell you now that in this blog, I will be sharing with you some spectacular photos that hint at a life of luxury and indulgence. My life is indeed blessed and magical (Self-affirmation: My life is blessed and magical. My life is blessed and magical. My life is blessed and magical.), but I don’t want you to get jealous. I don’t want you to question the blessedness and magicality of your own lives, which I’m sure are amazing, even if your lives right now consist of you sitting home staring at a computer screen, reading about someone else’s international adventures with no alternative but to accept the words they make up as they are writing about those adventures. I don’t want you to start to resent me (critically-acclaimed comedian DeAnne Smith) just because I am fully living my dreams, traveling throughout a wonderful and beautiful country doing exactly what I love to do. I don’t want you to look around at what I assume are your shabby home furnishings and feel anything less than great about what I’m sure are your best efforts at eking out the least depressing existence you can manage with your (perhaps limited) level of intelligence and ambition. I can only hope that you don’t feel too bad as you read this and see that this leg of my road show journey started a few days ago in illustrious Morewell*, Victoria, where my accommodation looked like this:
Yes, that’s correct. If there’s one thing that whispers luxury and indulgence when it comes to motel accessories, it’s red towels. Luxury and indulgence. That’s what red towels mean, and I think we can all agree. Luxury. Indulgence. We all agree. Red towels in a motel don’t mean “Hey, we can’t afford better towels” or “Look, we don’t know how to use bleach” or “Gosh, blood stains sure are stubborn!” No. Red towels = Luxury + Indulgence. WE CAN ALL AGREE.
Oh, and I don’t want to brag, but that’s not all that was in my motel room. There was also– and brace yourself to keep envy from engulfing you– a purpose-built heated tool to remove wrinkles from fabric. But it doesn’t stop there. Oh no. In addition to that, my room also housed a small, foldable table with a heat resistant surface on which to wield that tool.
I know you haven’t seen such quality upholstery before, so I’ll walk you through it. Those are deformed facsimiles of Disney characters Mickey, Pluto and Donald Duck, engaged in the sort of philosophical debate with which self-reflective world travelers of my caliber are often confronted. “What fruit do I like most?” they ask. The answer is, of course, “I like pineapple most.” What this somewhat surreal fabric is doing on an ironing board intended for adult use is something you don’t need to trouble yourself over, readers. Just sit back on your Ikea couch and be content with the mediocre success you’ve achieved. Let’s just say there are some things in the world of luxurious and indulgent world travel that you just aren’t ready to comprehend.
*If you’re wondering why I didn’t talk about the town of Morewell at all, it’s because I was only there for about 16 hours. I’m sure** there are many wonderful attractions in Morewell about which I could have written extensively, had I had more time there.
**I’m not sure about that at all. But if someone*** from the town of Morewell should read this, I don’t want them to feel bad.
***I doubt anyone from the town of Morewell will read this.