Last week when my husband suggested we take a Sunday drive with our son and daughter-in-law, I was suspicious. Bill just doesn’t suggest Sunday or any other day drives as a form of entertainment.

True, we had taken a long drive earlier in the week, but that was because he had just filled the gas tank before something went wrong with the Jeep, and the repair demanded an almost empty gas tank.

As we traversed the countryside, we managed to get lost three times, and each time we wound up in Wayne Lakes where we got lost again. Fortunately his sense direction found us every time we were lost.

This time he said we would go to Piqua. Then I knew our true destination was the super home and hardware store there.

Knowing this in advance allowed me to prepare for the trip. I put the book I was reading in my purse and we headed east.

When we got there, I very dutifully helped him look for something until I found the lawn furniture department where I chose a comfortable chair and sat down to read until he was ready to go.

Fortunately I saw him coming and was on my feet when he found me. “Where have you been?” he demanded. “I’ve looked all over this place for you!”

“Right here,” I assured him, fervently hoping he’d looked at all the merchandise while he was looking for me.

“We have to go to Troy,” he informed me, as our son and his wife joined us.

“Okay,” I agreed. “Oh, you might want to avoid the interstate because traffic is a mess. Construction.”

“Yeah,” he said as he hopped onto the interstate.

At first we zipped right along, but then traffic didn’t just slow down. It stopped. We were in two lanes of very long stops and very short goes for one solid hour to make a short 10-minute drive.

The only real excitement was when two cowboys in the opposite direction decided to fly up the empty “on” ramp as we finally exited the interstate. It was our distinct pleasure to see the highway patrol stop them as we drove into the parking lot of the next store.

As we returned to the Jeep after we finished shopping, someone suggested we stop somewhere to get dessert. The restaurant wasn’t crowded, and a waiter came almost immediately to take our order.

One of the men ordered a Fudge Brownie De-Lite Sundae, and the other ordered a banana split.

Then we waited and talked, and waited and talked, and waited some more. Finally our desserts were set before us.

Our son was probing his Fudge Brownie De-Lite gently with his spoon. “Hey, there’s no brownie in there.

Since it wasn’t my dessert, I could be philosophical. “It doesn’t need a brownie anyway.”

“In other words, shut up and eat it,” he translated.

Then I looked at Bill’s banana split. There was no banana evident. He confirmed there was no banana buried either, so taking a cue from our son, he just ate his banana less banana split.

I finally have to admit times have definitely changed, and not for the better.

AUHOR’S NOTE: This column was first published in the Greenville Advocate July 17, 2002.