Day 5: We'll always have Paris

Standard checkout time for Vegas hotels is 11am. Our flight is at 12am, and we want to sleep in without the hassle of packing. Here’s the secret to a later checkout at Sin City:

“Room 2894, what can I do for you?”

“Yes, I’m checking out today, but would like to stay in the hotel awhile to gamble. Is there any way the Paris could accommodate this?”

Oli told me that the hotels are suckers for people staying and gambling. You don't actually have to do it, just give them the illusion that they're taking your money away.

“Would another two hours be sufficient enough to suit your needs, ma’am?”

Oh boy, do I hate being called Ma’am. Abracadabra, I’m instantly aged a generation. “It will, thank you.”

“Enjoy the rest of your stay, Merci.”

All the staff say little French things all the time at the Paris, I suppose they think it makes the atmosphere more poo poo. They can mon fwa le fwah all they want right now, what matters here is that I get to crawl back under the covers with Sandy.

We sleep in, we snuggle, we get up and shower, we pack while watching Greg and, even though today is our last day, we’re eager to start it. It’s gorgeous out, the sun is streaming through the windows, and we say goodbye to our hotel room right after the bellhop leaves with our bags, to store them until we’re ready to go to the airport.

Today is a series of twos. The end of my second stay in Vegas, second stay at the Paris in fact; the end of my second trip with this man, and the second great time I’ve had. “Ace…”

“I had a great time too, Cheech.”

“Ace…”

“I know, I know, I’M WONDERFUL!”

We laugh and I tell him, “Indeed you are.”

Sandy wraps me up in a hug and says, “You’re wonderful too. You and I, we do good together.”

“We certainly do.”

“And we have to use up these stupid Walkarail passes.”

“We certainly do.”

So with a hand squeeze Sandy and I leave room 2894, most likely forever; head down to Le Notre, grab our coffee, and take a Walkarail ride south. There’s no point starting with breakfast today because it’s already in the afternoon, so instead we head back to Mandalay Bay and another of Oli’s tripled-star tickers: The Burger Bar.

“You just HAVE to go there,” she’d said to me before we left. “You’ll just…”

“I know sis, I know, we’ll try the amazing burgers and just DIE.”

Well, apparently everyone was just dying to go to the Burger Bar, as the wait for a table was 45 minutes. I’m not one to sit in one place and be happy about it, so I roam about the shops in search of bargains. Wouldn’t you know I finally strike gold with two tees by Project E for only $20 apiece, and a gorgeous embroidered summer blouse by 3J Workshop. The last time I saw one of these blouses at home it was just over $300, but here in Vegas it was going for $65.

Cha-ching, into my bag, and thank you so much for your business. I rejoin Sandy in the waiting game, and it’s not long before we’re seated.

We have come to the Burger Bar with a mission: We want to try Kobe beef. If you’ve never heard of the stuff, Kobe beef is known for its flavour, tenderness, and marbled texture. This, my friends, is achieved through the stellar treatment of the cattle: not only are they fed corn, alfalfa, barley and wheat straw, but they get to drink beer and are regularly given massages.

The Burger Bar has a Kobe beef burger, at the low low price of $16. And that was just the patty with bun; any other toppings were extra. I guess drinking all that brewski while being vigorously massaged raises the price a notch. Then again, it’s our last day in Vegas and we’re entitled to overpriced something.

“Whatcha looking at, Cheech?”

It took me a good few minutes, but I made my decision. “I’m thinking the Kobe beef burger on a multigrain bun, with pepper jack cheese, caramelized onions and…

“Oyster mushrooms?”

“Yeah…”

“You were originally thinking the blue cheese, but changed your mind at the last minute to pepper jack, right?”

“Yes, because…”

“Because it just seemed a better fit with the caramelized onions. And right now, you can’t decide between the sweet potato or zucchini buttermilk fries, right?”

“How’d you know?”

“Don’t I always know?”

Ha! Our eating tastes are so similar, 9 times out of 10 we end up ordering the exact same thing at restaurants.

When the waitress brings our plates they are almost identical, only the sweet potato fries are on Sandy’s plate, and the zucchini buttermilk are on mine. We figured we’d get to try both this way, and share all the fries on our plates. I also notice, quite amusingly, that we both eat our kosher dill slices separately, without putting them on the burgers.

Well, well. Opposites attract, but sometimes there’s nothing better than going out with yourself.