“Relax, weisenheimer!” she insisted. “We’ll find a hotel soon enough!”
Sheldn fell asleep. Myrna, anxious to prove a point, kept going. Eventually they ended up on Route 40 by the West Virginia borderline.
“Um, honey,” she started to explain.
“Now what’s going on?” he asked.
As soon as he noticed the folksy rural setting he knew they were in trouble.
“Oh well,” he uttered. “At least I have my banjo and vittles.”