“You will love Lawrenceville; it’s a favorite of mine. What a great place to spend your anniversary,” commented food critic and friend Anne.

Charles’s response to Beth was somewhat dubious at first. Their first two choices were booked. The third attempt proved a success. They also decided to ask their son, John, whom they hadn’t seen since the Pandemic began, to join them.

Blinding rain made mileage diminish to single digits, causing an irksome sendoff. 

“Oh guys, the sun just came out. Look at these lovely homes,” declared Beth. The street of their destination was lined with historic houses, all B and B’s. They parked in front of their accommodations, the third choice.

“See those broken shutters and the porch desperately needs a painting,” turned out to be son John’s initial assessment. Charles and John knocked at the door where a diminutive lady with a surly tone greeted them. 

“You are here too early.”

Following Murphy’s Law: What can go wrong will go wrong, problems surfaced. Since it was Monday, many restaurants were closed. Beth rummaged through her town guide for suggestions. One was found two blocks away. As they opened the car doors, the cloudburst returned.

“Now you have to admit that lunch was delicious.” The three laughed as they made snide remarks about the B and B and the witchy hostess. After surveying the rooms, they were pleasantly surprised. Inside, the entire house was beautifully cared for, but the hostess still resembled a drill sergeant. Breakfast was agreeable, conversing with an amicable couple. The food, however, was meager and disappointing.

“I wanted a second cup of coffee. The pot and the cream pitcher were empty after the first cup,” John complained. 

Beth chimed in with: “That was not typical of B and B’s.”

The teeming rain returned, canceling any outdoor activity. The threesome spent the day in Beth and Charles’s room, not disagreeable at all, as John was absent from their lives when the world shut down. Beth’s stomach was queasy as a result of too much fried food. 

“Here are your scallops,” announced a pert twenty-year-old waitress with perfect digestion as she placed Beth’s order of broiled scallops before her. The scallops seemed to grow in size until they filled her world. 

“The ambulance will be here shortly.” 

“What ambulance?”

“The one I called for you.”

“Why did you call an ambulance?”

“Because you fainted.”

The ambulance medic arrived and quickly questioned Beth, who refused to go to the hospital. She just wanted to go to the B and B. There, John stayed in their room while the conversation flowed between father and son. Beth drowsily listened to the discussion before falling into a deep slumber.

Around ten at night, Charles awakened Beth. “We are leaving before breakfast. There’s a problem. The manager knocked and said we were talking too loud.”

The trio left at eight, sans breakfast, stopping to eat nearby before departing for home. Not five minutes of driving got underway when Beth complained, “I’m sick. I need to find a restroom.” Ten minutes later, on the beautiful green patterned rug of the Double-Tree Hotel, Beth lost her breakfast. 

John and Charles towed Beth into a nearby restroom as Charles explains the gross incident to the manager. Considering these destructive people were not even residents, he was most understanding.

John slipped into the ladies’ room and shoved Beth’s suitcase under the stall as Beth’s clothing attire was unsuitable for travel. A maid came in and pushed wipes and a garbage bag under the stall. 

There was car trouble on the way home, forcing them to spend three hours at a local garage. The three of them laughed hysterically that evening. Charles summed it up: “Never leave home on your anniversary and always stay at a Double-Tree Motel.”