I thought to be really cute about the whole vacation thing, I'd let my boyfriend ask one question per day to get a clue about where it was. I got this idea from this consultant I work with sometimes, who's like 62 and looks like She-Ra and is thrice divorced so well in the position to tell me how to keep passion alive. Well, apparantly He-Man is not as sharp as my boy because on Day 3, tiring of this game but having to come up with something after I told him how lame I would think he was if I quit, he asked what the mayor's name was. Game over.
Lexington, it was.
Step two of any romantic weekend, after you pick the location and let your man discover it through the wonders of google, is to book a little romantic retreat. A home away from home, with a really large bed. Preferably historical. And that is how I came to book the bed and breakfast from hell. Because it had geese and ducks lightheartedly frolicking in the bedroom corners and I found that irresistable. It was going to be like making out in my parents' house except better because there was breakfast involved.
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