My mom urged me to write about something that happened to my brother-in-law this weekend, so here goes . . .

My family's suite at the hotel this weekend was three rooms. Two rooms on either side, each with a bathroom and two queen beds. One room in the middle with a full kitchen, dining area, breakfast bar, fireplace, balcony, sleeper sofa--and then beyond double doors, a kingsize bed and a bathroom.

My immediate family (me, Greg and the girls) was in one of the side rooms and my parents were in the other side room. My sister Pam and her boyfriend had the area with the king bed and my sister Claudette and her husband, Mike, had the sleeper sofa area.

My parents went to bed early Friday night and so did the Lee family. My sisters and their men went to a couple of the hotel bars and then came back to their room. Pam and her boyfriend, Jeff, went to bed, and Claudette also crashed.

Mike wasn't sleepy yet, so he had a few drinks and then fell asleep, still wearing his jeans, either in the chair or on the sleeper sofa. He woke up about 1:30 a.m., needing to pee.

He didn't want to turn a light on and wake Pam and Jeff, so he walked quietly through the double doors, past their bed, and towards the bathroom. He must have still been asleep though, because instead of going left into the bathroom, he went out the door into the hotel hallway. The door locked behind him and there he was, barefoot and wearing just jeans, at 1:30 a.m., in the hallway.

He could have just knocked on the door, but he didn't want to wake anyone and he still had to pee, badly. He wandered around the hotel looking for a bathroom and he got lost.

He wandered around some more and then found his way eventually to the main lobby. Even though he didn't have any I.D. on him (and in any case, the hotel rooms weren't in his name), he convinced the hotel clerks that they should give him another key to our rooms.

Mike says he remembered all three room numbers, but I still think it's amazing they gave him a keycard. I guess they figured--1:45 at night, only wearing jeans when it's 10 degrees outside, barefoot--it's gotta be a true story.

So he found his way back up to the fourth floor, let himself in, and went quietly back to bed. We all had no idea, until the next morning, that he had had such an adventure.

Now, if my husband wants to explain how he completely ripped out the crotch of one of his pairs of jeans-----