No guest is so welcome in a friend’s house that he will not become a nuisance after three days. – Roman playwright Titus Maccius Plautus, 200 B.C.
Company’s coming. No two words strike panic in my soul quite like these. According to the Travel Industry Association of America, 48 percent of Americans who travel for leisure stay with friends or relatives. That means the other half of us are frantically making our homes guest-ready. The approaching holidays are peak guest season.
I love my family and friends. Well, most of them. But having house guests always sends me into a fit of domestic frenzy.
I worry they will find those two-never uncovered Easter eggs stuffed between the sofa cushions. I worry my kids will put a whoopee cushion on the commode in the guest bath during the night. And I worry, despite all my lectures, the dogs will still lick their private parts in front of the company.
Then there’s the matter of the guest room.
It’s my fault for bragging that my new house would be bigger and have – and here I drew my breath in dramatically – a guest room. That meant my kids would no longer play musical beds when company came, and no one would sleep on the floor or that sofa bed that has caused more than one spinal injury. Since my boasting, I got what I deserved: company.
The phone rang. “Guess what? We can come!” Feelings of delight and dread collided as I calibrated my voice to match the caller’s enthusiastic pitch. Phrases like “no trouble,” “stay the week!” and “the guest room’s all ready,” tumbled out of my lying mouth. I hung up and faced the truth: Having a room that you plan to turn into a guest room and having a guest room are not remotely the same thing. I had two weeks to work a miracle.
The door to the so-called guest room had been closed since the last time someone walked in and got a concussion. With the door closed, I could delude myself into believing that inside lay a pristine room smelling of spring flowers and fresh soap.
I peer in. The blinds, mercifully, are closed. My eyes adjust. I gradually make out a treadmill covered in spider webs, a desk piled with tax returns dating to 1987, a broken television and a colony of fire ants. The smell is a combination of dust mites and gym socks. This isn’t a guest room; it’s a catchall.
A week before guests arrive, I clear the room. Moving the treadmill almost gives me a hernia, but it’s the most exercise I’ve gotten out of that contraption yet. I paint. Then I selectively move in the essentials: a bed with a good mattress (also good if ever I’m not speaking to my husband), a bedside table with a reading lamp and a small empty dresser.
I then begin decorating on my no-budget budget. I look into what a nice guest room needs, and pick up these expert clues:
Go wild with decor. Because you don’t have to live in the guest room, you can take some decorating risks. Import an African, tropical or rustic mountain theme. If guests tire of the look, they’ve stayed too long.
Make the place comfy. Go for sheets with high thread count, towels of Egyptian cotton, window treatments that offer light control and privacy, and blankets of different weights, so guests can adjust as they please.
Move out. This is a guest room, not a dumping station. Have empty hangers in the closet and empty drawer space. Scented drawer liners add a nice touch. If you put anything in the closet, make it a robe, slippers and maybe a jacket guests can wear.
Detail the bathroom like a nice hotel. Put in travel-size containers of shampoo, conditioner, bath gel and lotion. (The mini bottles are cute and remind guests they’re not staying forever.) Include a night light, blow dryer, new toothbrushes, razors, deodorant and cologne. This may be your only chance to drop a hygiene hint.
Add creature comforts: magazines and books; a basket of granola bars and fresh fruit; and some literature on local attractions, bus schedules and restaurants.
Refresh: Even if you changed the sheets after the last visitor, refresh the linens by throwing a few sachets under the covers or spritzing the sheets with lavender or rosewater. Then add a welcome bouquet of fresh flowers or a flowering plant.
When my guests arrived, I had just hung the last picture and put in a vase of fresh daisies. Still sweaty, I answered the door and welcomed them.
“Oh!” the wife gasped, when I showed her the room. “This is lovely. I hope you didn’t go to any trouble.”
“Trouble? This was no trouble at all,” I wink at the dog. “All we did was fluff a few pillows.”
Marni Jameson is a nationally syndicated columnist who lives in the Denver area. Reach her at marnij@comcast.net.
