My Home Away from Home: The Sandlake Country Inn

I didn't want to come back.

Now I know that's always what people say when they come home from a particularly scrumptious vacation, but I mean it.

I didn't want to come back.

And why should I? It felt like home. The kind of home you always dreamed of having, but just don't have the time to make for yourself. At my new home they provided me with matching fuzzy socks instead of mismatched socks with holes in the toes. I had a giant jacuzzi tub for two instead of a tub that you, well, you don't bathe in it. It had a dining room, but no kitchen. A gas fireplace that you flicked on instead of having to construct yourself in an old woodstove. A cookie jar full of homemade gourmet cookies instead of one that hasn't seen cookies in ten years. Instead of running to the store at 1:00 am to buy a bottle of wine that could fuel a semi, they provided you with a selection of wine the God of grapes himself would appreciate. I slept in a feather bed instead of one held together underneathe with a bungi cord. The dishes matched. There was always a silver coffee service with fresh steaming coffee at my door in the morning instead of having to stumble out to the kitchen to make it myself. I listened to classical music instead of the wall of sound that comes from my teens bedrooms.

And best of all, it had a wonderfully attentive, relaxed and happy husband instead of a harried, mean, old grouch.

I remember the guy I met on vacation. He's the one I married. Heck, he's the one I love!

So we are going back for our anniversary in December. Back home.