The great escape

To celebrate our upcoming anniversary and holiday weekend -- but mostly because Joe, having finished his semester of classes, has recently rejoined society -- we set about searching the Web for a nice little place to visit. Our requirements were not too great, as when Joe is in school our outings consist of things like going to Target for toilet paper, so pretty much anyplace is exciting to us, particularly if toilet paper is already provided.

"Oooo, look at this cute little town," I said of one place in Pennsylvania. "It's got all these quaint shops."

Joe peered at the photos and shrugged. "It looks just like our town. It'd be like going down the street for three days."

"But we've never been to these shops," I pointed out, with a woman's fine distinction between various retail establishments. "Besides, we don't have a chocolate cafe. Or a pretzel factory." Realizing this last would not appeal to someone who can't eat pretzels, I added encouragingly, "Maybe they have gluten-free pretzels for you."

He did not seem overly grateful for the pretzel factory's potential generosity on his behalf.

But he did take it upon himself to locate some lodging nearby, and his enthusiasm increased considerably upon finding a somewhat more manly B&B than we traditionally stay in. I call it The Lodge, although it is modest in size and there are no obvious displays, in the photos on the Web site, of animal heads on the walls, although one can never be sure of these things until one actually sees a place in person.

Joe filled out the online reservation request, answering the questions put to him faithfully and to the best of his ability. They were the standard questions, all fairly straightforward, such as "How did you hear about us?" "How long do you plan to stay?" "How do you feel about animal heads on the walls?" "Do your spouse's views on this subject differ from yours?" etc.

He was also asked the reason for our visit. I thought he might answer, "So my wife can stop talking about this supposedly wonderful pretzel factory and chocolate cafe," but he merely wrote: "Get away."

I imagined the proprietor reading this in some alarm, believing us to be criminals fleeing the scene of our crime and the prospect of capture and punishment, seeking a safe haven -- in a little Amish enclave where we would just blend in with everyone else -- until everything blew over.

I further imagined the proprietor, upon finding out that Joe requires gluten-free foods, thinking that here was his chance to aid justice, to turn over these dastardly criminals to the authorities, through a simple scheme: Serve Joe pretzels -- perhaps as a topping to a breakfast casserole -- that are not gluten free, thereby disabling him and allowing the authorities time to come and haul us away to pay for whatever it was we had done.

Unfortunately for the proprietor, the worst this scheme would do would be to cause Joe some minor pain, which would certainly not be enough to detain us if we were criminals. We could simply make our escape to the pretzel factory and hide there.

As long as it had toilet paper.