I do not like being an overnight house guest.
The experience makes me miserable. That's right, this is all about me. The discomfort starts with me knowing that I am intruding. No matter how much you tell me otherwise, you'd rather have me stay over at the Marriott. Even if the room is costing upwards to$200, I am not going to use your home to save money. There's a reason the hotel charges what it does. I'm a $200 pain-in-the-ass. It's a bargain.
The rest is about control. I know of no one who stays up later than me. What am I going to do with myself if you turn in at 10? I may want to watch TV all night, or raid your refrigerator. If I carry on like normal, you will not get a good night's sleep. I might add that I sleep in. Don't wake me up at the crack of dawn and feed me breakfast, or talk to me, or look at me. I require coffee, a newspaper, and quiet. I start each day by rearranging my balls, scratching my butt, taking a long whiz with the door open and stumbling to my paper and black coffee. No, I don't want cream or sweetener. That's for the weak. Besides, your coffee is probably not nearly strong enough, is served in a cup (as opposed to a mug) and perhaps has some not-as-God-intended flavor to it like vanilla.
Then there's my mysophobia. It's not quite the severity that was experienced by Howard Hughes, but just enough to pique my already rising anxiety level. I feel as bad about me having my ass on your toilet and wiping my infested hands on your towels just as much as I wonder if your fixtures and linens are clean. Sure, the Marriott presents the same issues, but I know, as a paying customer that I can call them out on this. It would certainly hurt your feelings if I mentioned your lackluster effort in maintaining a sterile environment. The biological remnants of my visit are certainly no joy to you.
It's your rules. Your routine. Your schedule. Your habits. You have a right to live in your castle as you see fit. No matter how accommodating you may be or not be, I am stressed. No matter what you do, I think your actions are driven by my presence.
What I'd like is to meet up with you, go eat somewhere ( I buy) , let you show me around town, have some drinks during a long overdue chat. When the evening closes, I go back to my room and reflect on the great day we shared. You can go home and do what you normally do.
See you tomorrow, my friend, but not before noon.
Oddly enough, I don't mind having overnight guests. You get the run of the house and I do whatever I normally do. I show you where the loose food is and afford you a private bathroom and a TV in your bedroom. All I ask is that you buy dinner.