Because of various circumstances, we couldn't spend our celebratory weekend too far from home, so we went to Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. En route, we came upon Roadside America. This, Reader Dear, is a tourist spot straight out of the 1950s! If you have ever been to this attraction, please know that nothing has changed here since you last visited! It looks the way it did when you were a child (I'd be happy to wager a bet):
On our way into the place, we had asked a couple coming out if their visit had been worth the ticket price.
"Oh, yeah," said the man. "And make sure you stop at the gift shop for a cheeseburger! They're outta this world!"
Well, then, indeed, the Yard Man had to have one! And that's how we also got served a long and entertaining history of Roadside America from the one who had cooked the burgers (and sometimes single-handedly cooked the burgers and run the whole place) ever since there was nothing vintage about it.
The next morning (after our arrival in Bethlehem and our night there) in the hotel lobby I noticed four men all dressed alike. Insignias on their shirts were barber poles. "Aha," I exclaimed. "You're here for a barber's convention!"
"Not quite," one of them responded. "But you're close!" Dear Reader, turns out they were a barbershop quartet, in town for a competition. I wheedled for a sample, of course. Don't you know, Reader Dear, how I wheedled. And they laughed, but then proclaimed their undying love for me in song!
"Thank you, thank you!" I said as they left. "You're sure to win the competition!*"
*I didn't say a word about their unrequited love;
I winked at to the Yard Man.
He gave me a winning smile.