'We Were Just Passing Through': Houseguest Horror Stories -- and a Few Happy Surprises

Whenever I stay at a friend's or relative's house, I always do the laundry on my last morning -- the sheets and towels that I used. I take this opportunity to throw my own clothes in the wash, so that when I fly back to D.C. I have a suitcase full of clean clothing. A win-win situation for everyone.

Andy Patterson

Washington

The old college "friend" hadn't thought to telephone me in 20 years, but when she discovered I had a house in Provence near Avignon in the Vaucluse area of France, she invited herself to spend a week with me there. She arrived and phoned me to pick her up at the train station 50 miles from my town.

When we got to my house, she began a nonstop campaign of proselytizing for her evangelical religion and rabid Republican politics. (I'm a Democrat.)

I drove the guest to Avignon for a walk on the loveliest winding street full of elegant shops. Her comment: "Why did we take this long route to the car?"

I drove the guest to the Luberon Valley on the way to Marseille. "Why did we come here? What's there to see in . . . what's this called?"

On the fifth day, I woke early and made coffee. The guest emerged from the guest room whining that I had left the key in the door lock that night and that she had lain awake all night, afraid of an intruder. I told her to pack her valise. I drove her to the train station 50 miles away.

Mary Alice Langenkamp

Malaucene, France

The following were actual questions from guests who stayed two weeks at my house with a number of children:

· "Was that wallpaper torn off the wall before we came?"