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Slices of Life: The comforts of not-at-home

There's something luxurious about an overnight hotel stay. And hotels work hard to make us feel that way. The term "hotel bedding" has become synonymous with generous thread-count, high-end, crisply pressed, white cotton sheets.

I've stayed at a handful of hotels over the last few months and could, quite honestly, get used to lavishing myself with the convenience and splendor of new sample-size bottles of shampoo and conditioner each morning. That, and having a housekeeper make my bed each day. What better way to be pampered than having someone make your bed? You can't get any more posh.

Of course, I appreciate the highly polished granite countertops, wet bar and stainless steel sinks with upscale, motion-sensor faucets. I'm thankful for the king-sized bed with lots of extra pillows ­— soft or firm; the choice is yours. I enjoy a suite with a fireplace, comfy couch and view of the lake (or oversized flat-screen; take your pick). And when I am treated to a room with a desk equipped with ample charging stations (not to mention free wireless internet) my heart swells with gratitude.

Hotels go out of their way. They do. They give us a fancy coffee maker in-room so we can make a cup before venturing down to indulge in the free breakfast in the expansive lobby with marble floors and glass elevator. They place bottled water in the mini fridge so it is nicely chilled when we are ready to drink it. They honor our requests for extra towels (extra, extra fluffy towels) and always provide us with a hair dryer. In the very best of circumstances, rooms are outfitted with plush bathrobes to further indulge us after a long soak in our very own, private soaking tub.

Hotels work hard to satisfy, and that's why I'm puzzled. They spend thousands on decor, artwork, swimming facilities, workout centers and hot tubs. They have a restaurant and bar on-site should we ever get hungry or thirsty. They cut no corners — except for one. And it's a corner every hotel guest is familiar with because we all have to — you know — go.

And when we do, our feet may be planted firmly on expensive terrazzo tile flooring and the surfaces surrounding us may be of the highest quality, but when we reach over to grab what we need, our hand takes hold of the thinnest, stingiest, one-ply toilet paper known to humankind. I'm not sure the stuff is even available at the local store. Hotels probably order it special just to torture us.

Hotels go out of their way to pamper their guests, yet when it comes to the tiniest (and probably least expensive) of details, they scrimp on the one-ply. I'm not sure why.

How much more could an ultra-quilted, super-soft two-ply roll of TP cost? A dollar? That's my estimate, and I am the toilet paper procurement CEO at my house, so I know a thing or two about these matters.

And a one-buck roll would likely cover a couple of guests for a couple of nights. I've never been keen on math, but that equates to about 25 cents per person per day — or maybe even less. Perhaps we could trade in some of the other luxuries for one that we all can appreciate in a deeply sensitive way.

Seems like a good investment to me.

But then again, I've never been a big fan of terrazzo.

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