Stockholm Syndrome, A Twist

You know, Bill, (and you should definitely be reading this, double O-J) it was a mystery to me as to why you left in the bathroom of the "grotty garrett" where I lived in London, a white terry cloth bath mat (slightly frayed in the middle around the identifying Dorchester name, therefore not in likely use at the hotel), several small soaps favored by the Arab men who stay there and two in lovely cobalt blue plastic soap savers from the Stockholm Hilton.

It was the Stockholm Hilton Soap Diversion Syndrome.

And it worked, too.