The March of Mraz, as told by Morgan Freeman...

When I was younger I used to trip out at the thought of staying in a hotel room. Even if I was sharing a room with my parents and siblings, there was still free HBO, a pool, never ending hot water, beds you could bounce on from one to the other, a phone you couldn’t use, and mini-bar food you were never allowed to eat. Once upon a time an elementary aged lad went on a beach trip with his father and sister and grandparents and maybe his dad’s girlfriend from the era, I can’t remember. We had conjoining rooms to satisfy the sleep requirements meanwhile retaining the togetherness of a family vacation. Upon arrival my sister immediately began calling between our rooms and pretending to be someone else each time. You could hear her voice through the wall so she wasn’t fooling anyone, yet I’d still answer the sustaining old fashioned ringer to deliver a proper shut-up or quit-it into the receiver as young persons of blood relation are allowed to do to each other. After 10 or more minutes of this game my grandmother stepped in and broke up the excitement, bothered by the ringing of the phone and ringing of the ear caused by hyper children recently sprung from a 6 hour car ride in a shared backseat. Then the phone rang again and I’d like to think my Nanny cursed, even though I know for a fact the dirtiest word she’s ever muttered with foul intentions is the word...

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