This morning, unable to settle on a location for our summer trip, Rob and I went to a travel agent to get ideas. I always go into a travel agencies with the expectation that all the great secrets of the world will be revealed, making me heady with freedom at the limitless possibilities open to me.

Nothing of the sort ever happens.

Instead, there are countless booklets filled with reassuring photographs, rigid itineraries, and deceptive pricing--topped off with a page of small-print restrictions. The world is not my oyster, but I might get twenty-four-hour room service and an afternoon at the Blenheim Cheese Hut. Have a nice day.