Now Entering Hell: population 2

Over the last couple of months I have put a lot of thought into planning a small vacation for my husband and myself - just some time without the midget. So far I have eliminated all prospects except Branson, Mo.

Now, I'm not planning on leaving right away or even anytime in the near future. I am being very unlike myself and planning well in advance. I'm weighing all the pros and the cons and some day, in a few years or so, we may take a break.

Well, that is if we weren't going to die.

This brings me back to Branson. Growing up in Springfield I have traveled to Branson close to a million times. I have one of those little clicker counters which is why I can be so certain on the number. I am comfortable with the drive and getting around and, well, I feel safe there on my own.

Now, it should be noted that I have thought of other possible destinations: Hawaii, Las Vegas, Kansas City, St. Louis, Sedona, Florida... And so on. Unfortunately my childhood has made all of these locations suspect and a little bit dangerous.

It wasn't until I had turned 30 and I was trying to plan a trip with just the two of us that it had all caught up to me. Every place I had thought of all that was running through my mind was 'Who's driving? What's nearby? Are we all going to die? Can my husband be trusted to not let us all die?'

I wondered to myself why I would have these types of thoughts. Vacations are supposed to be fun. It's not like I had ever had one that ranked with the Griswold's attempts. So, what could it be?

Oh, wait I know. Everytime we went on vacation we would inevitably take a wrong turn and my dad, the driver, would yell at my mom, the navigator, something along the lines of, 'Where are you taking us? We're all going to die!'

My family, it seemed, was always on the verge of entering East St. Louis, or any number of notoriously dangerous spots. There has always been the story of going to Joplin to see the Spook Light. We had pulled onto the lonely country road that silly ball of light inhabits and were apparently greeted by a group of Klan members or some other yahoos with torches. Either way you look at it a family of small children and yahoos with torches really shouldn't mix.

So maybe we were always on the verge of death or perhaps my dad was over-reacting. The point is I trusted him to get the family out of danger, probably because he recognized death was right around the corner.

My husband on the other hand is too relaxed about it. He reminds me of Brad Majors in The Rocky Horror Picture Show simply saying, "I'm here. There's nothing to worry about." He doesn't seem to accept that every bridge leads to East St. Louis and around every corner is another danger lurking.

So, as far as I'm concerned, my husband and I will travel to Branson. Everything I need is located pretty much on one major road, and Dolly Parton is there to protect me. The only fear I have is Baldknobbers, and if Silver Dollar City and the best-ride-ever Fire in the Hole have taught me anything, it is the only thing Baldknobbers want is your pants.