We have just concluded Day Two of our "Havin' Fun in Philly" mini-vacation. Brad has enacted a surprisingly effective counter-offensive to combat my subtle manipulations designed to get him to do what I want on trips. During my twenty-four years of marriage, I have developed what is referred to in obscure medical journals as a steel bladder. On a typical seventeen-hour trip to the midwest-entertainment-capital of the world, Mason City, Iowa, we stop for three timed potty breaks. Brad believes in Point A and Point B and will not be swayed by corn mazes, petting zoos, or a buy one/get one free hot dog special. Courageously refusing to look longingly in the rear view mirror as the fun attractions of my life pass me by, I pondered a future with a man who cannot abide my packing style, is irritated that I have a slight problem with deciphering a map, won't let me drive as I refuse to merge, and prefers to leave the radio off. I had to do something...for the children. I did a test-trial on our drive home from Florida. With calculated casualness, I charmingly read each and every one of the the thousands of billboards advertising the fun to be had at South of the Border. Having been married to Amy Mosiman for over two decades, Brad is able to ignore me for impressively long lengths of time but eventually I wore him down. He sighed, "If you want to be able to spend any time at Harper's Ferry, then we can't stop. It's your call." (No, it's not). I nodded in agreement, stoically gazing out my passenger window, "I know, you're right...mumble, mumble, mumble." "What?" Brad asked, his internal GPS refusing to deviate from its set destination. "Oh nothing," I replied, "I just forgot who I was vacationing with for a second." "What do you mean," he said, sensing a trap. "It's just that, if we were with Geri, we wouldn't even have to question a brief stop at South of the Border. We'd just do it." Gritting his teeth, Brad changed lanes and I changed conflict resolution philosophies.
But I got lazily complacent in my victory. While I was busy getting my way all the time, Brad was simultaneously concocting a scheme to regain the upper hand. In hindsight, I can now see how he put his evil plan in motion. The first step was to disorient the target. We had barely left Wyoming County when Brad offered to pull over for a little snack. "Doesn't Geri start off your vacations with a strawberry milk," he asked, pulling out his rarely-seen wallet and handing me twenty dollars. Baffled, I took the money (I'm not completely stupid) and systematically sifted through the gas station food-mart for something remotely edible. Savannah settled on breakfast pizza while Sydney braved a sausage sandwich. Happy with my strawberry milk, we resumed our journey. Moments later, a disgusted voice emerged from the exterior of the van. "I'm so done with this," Savannah said, disdainfully dropping her gas station selection. Without missing a beat, Brad rolled down the window and said, "Let's feed the bears then."
Thirty minutes later, he pulled into a Wegman's and again, pulled out that wallet. Taking the money (I'm not stupid), Sydney and I headed straight to the bakery section. With delight, we watched a woman filling fresh cannoli shells. She delivered four straight into our hands and we returned victoriously to the vehicle. Our next stop was at the Welcome to Pennsylvania visitor center where I browsed attraction pamphlets and wandered the pumpkin patch. I irritated my kickball injury by stretching my leg so Brad helped me to the van. When we later stopped for gas, my husband encouraged me to visit the neighboring farmer's market despite the fact that I am incapable of picking out fruit. He barely blinked an eye when I returned with a six dollar container of golden plums and two rock-hard peaches. We ended up feeding another bear when I bit into a plum and it exploded all over me. Then we stopped for breakfast at Perkins...yes! Potato pancakes! By the time we arrived at Washington Crossing the Delaware park, everything was closed. Brad shrugged good-naturedly. "I just have fun being with you," he said as we peered into dark windows and peeked over locked gates. It was then that I knew I'd been had. How could I have been so stupid?
South of the Border isn't what it used to be when I was a child. Most of it is all closed up and dumpy. Nice Try!!!!
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