A few weeks ago Adam asked me if I wanted to take the train out of town for a few hours. With no particular location in mind, we settled on the random spot of Tarrytown, NY because it’s only about 30 minutes from Manhattan. I agreed to this particular outing for two main reasons: 1. I was also craving some time outside of the city, and, more importantly, 2. Adam said he knew where we were going (something I’ve since learned I should always doubt).
Once we got off the train, I followed my confident husband along a street lined with closed liquor stores and out-of-business restaurants. By the time we officially entered Sleepy Hallow and Adam finally acknowledged we had gone in the complete wrong direction, I was hot, sweaty and no longer happy with our adventure. And, because Sleepy Hallow isn’t a major hub (go figure), cabs aren’t readily available, which meant we had to walk past where we started to get to where we originally wanted to go.
By that time, I was even more hot and more sweaty, which meant I was consequently more pissed at my husband. But, because he wanted to make it back to the city alive, he found us an ice cream shop and, alas, all was right in the world again.