On a long car trip, my husband and I were listening to a tape of the popular novel The Bridge of Madison County.
The story is about a roving photographer who, in losing his way searching for a particular covered bridge, encounters an unfulfilled
Iowa housewife, and they engage in a torrid love affair.
My husband, the photographer in the family, turned to me at the end of the tape and said, “Don’t worry. That would never happen to me. I would never stop to ask directions.”