Our blissful stay at the Montage Hotel Laguna Beach has been marred by only one tiny thing: the hotel’s insistence on referring to PMW as Mr. Barron. PMW loves this–not because he aspires to the title, but because he knows it annoys me. By the pool, “Mr Barron” is asked if he would like an umbrella to shade him from the sun.
At the spa, “Mr Barron” is invited to share whether he would prefer a male or female therapist. The detailed and enthusiastic nature of his reply would immediately disqualify him from ever holding the coveted title, supposing this was his ambition.
Last night at the Studio restaurant we sat outside overlooking the ocean and “Mr Barron” was offered a blanket in case a shiver should run through his elderly, feeble frame. It was all most vexing.
It is easy to see how the misunderstanding arose. I booked the room (although, to be fair, PMW ended up spending at least as much as I did at the resort) and when we turn up together and are asked for a name, I always give mine and never think to introduce Milhous. It seems men always pick up the bill at the Montage and, if they are not married to the woman they happen to be with, it must suit everyone to pretend that they are.