the smell of my desperation has become a stench

Welcome to Armstrong Inn, part one

And now, an abrupt change of subject and mood. A welcome change, a much needed change, a distraction I am fully embracing even though it has the potential to polarize some of you. Because THIS IS SPONSORED CONTENT. I just wrote that. Those words just came out of my mouth. And you know what? That mouth is still clean enough to kiss (the dogs).

A few months ago IKEA approached me and asked if they could help furnish a room in my home, and the one that I needed the most help with was the guest room. Because this is the first time I’ve ever owned a place with a spare room that I can dedicate to friends from out of town. So. If you have a problem with sponsored content, that’s fine. You are entitled to those feelings and we can still be friends. But I probably won’t let you sleep in my awesome new guest room.

You get the couch. And when you’re asleep I might write on your forehead with permanent marker. KIDDING. I’d just use a pencil.

I’ve read countless articles in home decor magazines about guest rooms and the amenities that make guests feel welcome and most at ease. But I never really paid any attention because I wasn’t ever going to have a room — a whole freaking room (sorry, that Mormon curse word just popped into my brain out of nowhere [FLIPPIN, FETCHIN, HECK!]) — where at the foot of the bed I could put out two plush towels topped with a box of chocolates for when the President decided to drop by. Because he and I are buddies, you knew that right? I wore purple tights while sitting twenty feet away from him and now I’m in his will.

In the past I’ve always had to make sure that the cushions on the couch were free of stray coins and gummy bears. Or that the blow-up mattress didn’t have a hole through which it would empty all night long like a hissing possum. And when my guests woke up with a backache I’d get out the bottle of ibuprofen, hand them a glass of water and say, “I promise not to blog about your bed head.”

Because I am a giver.

Throughout my travels as A Professional Writer About My Feelings, I’ve stayed in hotel rooms that ranged from luxurious to WHAT THE HELL IS THAT STAIN ON THE PILLOW (blood? bodily fluid? AXE deodorant?!?!?!?!). So I’m trying to pull from those experiences to make this room a true gem, a place where my friends (Barack) can rest in the most comfortable atmosphere possible. And so I want to know what your experiences have been. Have you ever stayed in a guest room that you wanted to take home? Was it the thread count on the sheets? The hand towels? The complimentary foot rub?

So many of you have recently reached out and said I could crash at your place if I ever needed it, so many strangers offering me a place to put my head. Because of that I want to show you this whole process so that if any of you needed a place to stay (after I performed a background check and made sure you weren’t a felon or intended to steal Chuck or had ever been known to sleep walk in the nude) you, too, would have a place to rest your head. Is that cheesy? I don’t care. As cheesy as the plate of charcuterie and imported Champignon Brie I’ll have waiting for you when you walk in and drop your luggage. First you’ll have to acknowledge Coco, though. She’ll have jumped up and wrapped herself around your neck while screeching at an octave likely to cause head trauma.

I also wanted you guys to know that Jon is working on this project with me. He’ll be doing all the video work, so we’re honing our skills when it comes to collaboration. It’s a good thing.

So. What makes you feel most at home?

……….

This post is brought to you by IKEA and THIS IS THE OFFICIAL DISCLOSURE, WHAT UP, FTC!

Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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