Arriving in the hotel room, I drop my bags and flop on the bed, even though my best friend is utterly horrified by hotel bedspreads. “They never wash them!” she hisses, yanking them off. Her grandparents lived in a grand hotel for many years, and apparently even grand hotels are remiss in this particular area. Hotel bedspreads still horrify me much less than, say, bowling shoes, which may well be why I’ve never bowled. And I love to flop on hotel beds and read the room service menus and spa descriptions. It’s a flop on the wild side.