Some Kind of Wonderful

All the criteria of a brief road trip were met.

We got started later than we intended to and brought duplicate supplies.

We took the new car - complete with smell - with its handy directional mirror (NE, SW), although we still managed to miss our exit, easily enough corrected with a detour, U-turn and only a slight swerve.

We used driving time to crack each other up sharing love stories from our pasts - the old, the young and the crazy. Most oft-repeated question: "What exactly was the attraction?"

We listened to local Top 40 radio, meaning Grand Funk Railroad, the Pointer Sisters and Tommy Tu-Tone. So yes, unbelievably, for the second time in four days, I heard "867-5309/Jenny," a fate I wouldn't wish on anyone but Tommy.

We discovered a mutual youthful fondness for Danskins, although, to be clear, I never lost mine to a rogue wave in Ocean City on my honeymoon. Come to think of it, I did wear one in Rehobeth Beach to see "Aliens" (one of the very few films I ever walked out on) and in Aruba to dance away the night in a club. Photographic proof of both these ensembles exists.

We discussed where we want our ashes scattered and how there's no such thing as "a bit of a rescue." You might as well say it's a bit of a pregnancy.

There was laughter pretty much start to finish, something not achievable with every travel date.

Driving back under an epic cloud and a shroud of humidity, we made mental notes about how we'll do our next road trip bigger, better, longer, most of which we're bound to forget before it happens, which is sooner rather than later.

Book it, Dano. This is the summer of reinvention.