I’ve always loved hotel breakfasts. There’s nothing like stale waffles and watered-down Lipton to make one believe that all is right with the world.

Or maybe it’s the other way around. At the last hotel I was at, the waffles were watered down and the Lipton tasted like it had spent the last few years in someone’s car.

In the gasoline tank, not a cushy front seat.

But there’s something special about plastic-wrapped muffins and orange juice that is a totally-not-suspicious greenish-brown color.

It reminds you that you are far from home and free of cares, except for food poisoning. I think that’s why I love hotel breakfasts so much.

So I was lingering over my tea and waffle soup when my dad said we would see a great landmark today, a landmark which is enshrined in the conscience of all patriotic Americans, right between Mount Rushmore and the Costco food court.

I refer to the largest chest of drawers in the United States.

It’s located in High Point, North Carolina, and is about the highest point any “furniture capital of the world” could reach.

I wanted to go on vacation to see boldly American sights like the Grand Canyon, or the Mississippi River, or the Dave Barry sewage processing plant.

I wanted to experience thrilling American pastimes like bull-riding and waterskiing, to skydive when I needed an adventure and to nosedive into comfortable hotel beds when I wanted to relax.

Instead, we went to see a large drawer with a pair of socks sticking out of it.

It was grand. It was majestic. It was—oh, who am I kidding?

I expected it would be bigger. As it was, the socks could probably fit my brother, who has feet the size of boat paddles.

I could probably use one of the socks as a sleeping bag. As it were, they were 32 feet in the air, so I couldn’t reach them.

That’d make a grand news story: “Giant Florida woman steals giant socks from a giant drawer.”

I’m not a giant, nor a Florida woman, but I’d pretend to be if I got on the news. I’d put the camera at my feet so I’d look the size of the Chrysler Building, and I’d wear a tie-dyed T-shirt so people would think I was from the Giant Iguana State.

I mean the Geriatric State. I mean the Flip-Flops with Socks State. I mean the Sunshine State. I think.

All the interesting things seem to happen to people from Florida.

My home is New Jersey, a state known for its garbage mounds and chemical processing plants. I wish we had a giant chest of drawers.

As it is, New Jersey is known for overpriced hotels and smelling like Lipton. And not the good kind.

After we saw the giant chest of drawers, my family visited the Wright Brothers National Memorial, which is a rock obelisk celebrating the first airplane flight.

As I recall, the Wright brothers made it to about the height of the chest of drawers. It’s a good thing they didn’t hit it on the way down, or North Carolina would be covered in loads of smelly laundry.

All too soon, our vacation was over. I’m writing this from the last hotel on our trip.

I only have a rock-hard plastic-wrapped muffin by my laptop to remind me of where I am.

I’ll eat it for breakfast with my waffle soup.

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Copyright 2026 Alexandra Paskhaver, distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Alexandra Paskhaver is a software engineer and writer. Both jobs require knowing where to stick semicolons, but she’s never quite; figured; it; out. For more information, check out her website at https://apaskhaver.github.io.