Dear Four Seasons:
Hello! How are you? I am fine. Thank you for accommodating me last week during my trip to Toronto to visit my friend Kelly. Thank you for the shower caps and excellent water pressure. Thank you for the bountiful towels and matching plush white terry robe. Thank you for the 1.2-liter bottle (glass! real glass!) of Evian, which was the only item from the minibar that interested me in the least and for pricing it at $CDN 4.00, which I rationalized was “oh, definitely worth it, just open the bottle already before you convince yourself otherwise” if it meant I didn’t have to interrupt my mid-afternoon laz-e-nap to get dressed and find a place to buy it elsewhere. Thank you for the charming miniature bottles of L’Occitane shampoo, conditioner, shower gel, and moisturizer (they look just as cute in my bathroom as they did in yours). I appreciate all of it.
However, I must bring your attention to one amenity that you seem to have overlooked: the nightly confection delectation. Would it have hurt you to top my fluffy pillow with a nice little chocolate when you turned down the bed? Even the lesser hotels whose beds I’ve (dis)graced have made sure that a polite good-night chocolate — a minty Andes modestly adorned in its signature green wrapper — greeted me before I abraded my flesh on 200 thread-count sheets. And I always leave an M&M on my own pillow at home as a pleasant welcome. Certainly a hotel of your calibre and reputation could have afforded me that small chocolate comfort. Comfort that I certainly deserved after viewing my face in the lighted magnifying mirror permanently affixed to the wall in the well-appointed marble bathroom.
If you cannot afford to spare the expense of chocolates for turndown, may I gently suggest you economize by eliminating these malicious mirrors? No one needs to see her skin in such glaring grotesque detail. I was traumatized to see my tear ducts represented in such a large format — although I must admit that I was quite taken with my ability to actually witness the production of tears directly at the source … tears borne of the realization that the skin I’d been admiring in regular mirrors theretofore was not as smooth as an untrodden desert but instead an accurate replication of a topographical map of Peru. Which made me recall the Andes, which led to chagrin over the lack of an Andes pillow choco-mint, which, I must confess, was probably a good thing after all given the magnitude of the wretchedness of my magnified skin condition.
Please take my suggestions under advisement. I do not want to have to risk social embarrassment by taking my business to a less prestigious hotel or to BMOC to yours the next time I am in your fair town.

P.S.  How much would you have charged me if I appropriated the Ergo Softglo alarm clock? I cannot find it online anywhere!