"My House Rules"

     Now, I don't mean to imply there are 'rules' at my house. Clearly, there are not; no matter what my wife thinks. There are definitely some 'strongly suggested guidelines', but no, I mean it more in a 'Jeff Spicoli' kind of, statement of fact.
   "Dude, my house rules."


     At my house, there are limitless cups of giant coffee. My cost? Pennies. At Starbucks you have to cram next to bleary eyed commuters, cattle calling for their morning syrup fix, for about 5-6 bucks a pop. No thank you. 


     If you happen to over do it on cheap accessible coffee, there is never a line for the bathroom at my house. And if you find yourself a tad dehydrated from all the running back and forth to the loo, expelling unneeded waste, well you can even chug milk right from the carton - although I myself would never do that.


     The breakfast menu is a little DIY for my tastes, but the lady that runs the kitchen usually stocks it with pretty good stuff and you can have your eggs any way you like them. I usually enjoy my meals in the lounge area, where you can watch T.V. in your jammies.


     There are shower and restroom facilities at my house, with a wide array of citrus themed  grooming products to choose from. Afterwards, you can just throw your towel anywhere on the floor, and the cleaning crew will pick it up later.


     I really enjoy staying at my house, and while there have been disagreements with the staff from time to time, I'm fairly certain I will continue to give them the business. Err, I mean my business. Whatever.