A few years ago, Tony and I stayed the night in a small town in Indiana. Construction workers were remodeling an old hotel in French Lick, and Tony wanted to see the progress. As we drove down the street, we encountered one of those “danger, do not enter” signs. Tony ignored it and kept driving.
“Wait! We can’t drive down here. Didn’t you see that sign?” I asked.
“Sure, but it’s ok. No one’s going to stop us!”
“Yeah, but we are breaking the rules. We aren’t supposed to drive beyond the sign! Turn around!” I’m panicking, looking around for the swarm of police that are surely waiting around the bend to arrest us.
“It’s fine, Annette. Nothing’s going to happen.” Tony keeps driving towards the palatial hotel ahead.
“Turn around, Tony. We are NOT supposed to be here!” I’m waiting for someone to pounce on us like a cat on a mouse. A gargantuan hotel rises before us, but I can’t appreciate it; I’m too concerned about the trouble we are about to face.