I don’t know what made me go to the Cape Cod Potato Chip factory.  I mean, sure I love Cape Cod Potato Chips.  Who doesn’t?

Kettle cooked in 100% pure canola oil...the lowest saturated fat content of all commercially used vegetable oils…plus, canola oil is a good source of omega-3 fatty acids and rich in vitamin E. 

Bet you didn’t know that. 

And listen to this: The chips are flash-baked to naturally reduce the fat. I don’t know what that means, but it sure does sound exciting. Flash-baked. Flash-baked! The chips are then inspected by a qualified chip inspector. That sounds like a tight operation to me. 

Well, that’s all good to know, but it doesn’t explain why I am here. I can buy all the Cape Cod Potato Chips right down the street from my house at the Shop-Rite. I didn’t have to travel 1,400 miles to Hyannis, Massachusetts to get potato chips. I wrinkle my brow in thought.

I suppose it could have been the invitation right there on the bag. You can visit our factory tour and gift shop Monday through Friday from 9:00am-5:00pm. They provided me with a map  right there on the bag. Now if that’s not an invitation, I don’t know what is.

Maybe I wanted to check out that flash-baking thing.  Maybe ask that qualified chip inspector a thing or two. So here I stand, staring at the Cape Cod Potato Chip factory. Smiling. Smiling like a loony-tune who just traveled a day away, for what even I do not know. 

I am sure there are those who would question me on whether I have been taking my little blue pills.  Sure, I forget sometimes. Who doesn’t? But why must everything I do have to do with those stupid little blue pills? Maybe I just wanted to take those Cape Cod people up on their invitation. An invitation is an invitation, and it’s rude turning one down. 

I hear the chirping in my pocketbook. That would have to be Bob wondering where his wife is. I sure hope he didn’t get the police involved this time. Can’t a girl take a leisurely trip to the Cape Cod Potato Chip factory without the police coming after her? 

The chirping won’t stop, so I am forced to answer it. I push the send button and hold my breath.

“Ginny, where the hell are you?!? Everyone’s looking for you!”

“Bob? That you?” 

“YES! IT’S ME!!” He is doing that heavy breathing thing he does. Oh-oh. 

“Ginny, please tell me this doesn’t have anything to do with Cape Cod Potato Chips. Please don’t tell me you’re in...Massachusetts.” His voice is weary, so tired.

I ask, “How’d ya guess?” I giggle like a girl. I hate when I do that. 

“The bag was ripped to shreds! There are potato chips everywhere! I spotted the hole where you cut out...cut out…I had to call the 1-800 number to find out what was on the bag...to find out what was so damned important. I had hoped...that maybe it was a coupon...you know, like normal wives cut out...but no, they told me it’s a map...a map to the Cape Cod Potato Chip factory!” 

He is really breathing heavy now, doing that wheezing thing he does. Oh-oh. 

“Please tell me Ginny...please tell me you aren’t in Hyannis, Massachusetts.”

“Why can’t a girl visit a potato chip factory for goodness sakes?”

“Ginny, I know you haven’t been taking your pills...I know it...”

“Why is this such a big deal? I mean, maybe I came to apply for a job. You know, maybe I want to be a...a flash-baker...or maybe one of those quality chip inspectors. What’s so crazy about that?”

Bob sighs. “Ginny, you live in Florida. That’s 24 hours at least…don’t you think that’s an awfully long commute?”