I am completely, to use the correct phrase, 'freaking out.' Why is there no tea here? What are those things that look like polos but taste like the worst thing imaginable? And don't even get me started on the chocolate.
Most of all- where is our money going? It seems we are obliged to tip anything that moves- and inanimate objects. Last night I was in tears in our motel room, throwing all kinds of nonsensical comments in Richard's direction. Luckily he seemed quite unconcerned about the issue and said, 'calm down Doris*, everything's going to be OK.'
Afterthought: they're good at bins here though. And that beach at the front of LA is nice.
*'Dorises' = a blanket term for 'women.'
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