But enough about my breach birth.
I noticed recently, between bouts of depression and rage, that Escape the Room has opened in West Chester.
That, along with Lancaster, Litiz, Philadelphia, Baltimore, etc, makes five-hundred thousand escape rooms within driving distance of my house. My cousin, bless her stupid, stupid heart (genetics is all), wants me to join her for Escape the Room: 1980’s Edition. I told her I’d think about it, because I barely got out of 80’s alive the first time round.
She promised to buy me lunch, though, so what the hell. Free food.
I really am having a difficult time understanding the appeal of this escape craze, though. Call me a cock-eyed optimist (hey, watch where you’re pointing that thing!), but I get to sit in a beautifully decorated hotel room for the better part of an hour with five to nine other participants – strangers, who aren’t my family. Why the hell would I be in such a hurry to get out?
Much more fun to sit back, feign puzzle-impairment, and let the shills sweat it out. Me? I’ll enjoy fifty-nine minutes of blissful solitude.