“Akron? You want me to go to Akron?”

I stared at my husband, Jay, mouth agape, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

He had been leading up to this – first asking me to save the last weekend of September so he could take me away for a romantic trip, but refusing to tell me where.

“Wha-a-a-t?” Jay answered with a high-pitched tone, followed by a nervous laugh. He only uses that response when I’m about to launch. “I’ve always wanted to go there,” he continued.

“You could have chosen Maui, where we could bask in the tropics and you could swim in warm, clear water while I visited my sister, niece and nephew and mom,” I said. “You could have chosen Paris or Spain, but you chose Akron?”

“Jesus, Jay, I spent my entire childhood praying I would wake up anywhere else, and you want me to go back there? You have no idea how hard it was to get out. That’s not a romantic vacation. It’s torture.”

“Wha-a-a-t?” he said, with the same nervous giggle.

If Jay had not already bought the airline tickets and booked the hotel, I might have been able to talk him out of it, but it was a done deal.

So I kvetched and moaned some more and shook my head whenever he skulked sheepishly into the same room.

Over the next few days, once I’d realized there was no changing his mind, I decided to make peace with it, and I let my best childhood friend, Pat, know we’d be visiting in a month. Only when the date drew nearer did I stop giving Jay grief and begin getting excited about seeing her.

Two days before we left, I told my friend Cheryl about the trip while we were talking on the phone.

“Akron?” she asked incredulously. “You’re kidding, right?”

So, I told her the story.

“Will your marriage survive?” she asked after she stopped laughing.

In all fairness, Jay is a historian of Alcoholics Anonymous, which began in Akron. He’d been studying the movement more than 30 years, yet had never been to its birthplace.

Now that it’s over, despite my prejudgment I had a marvelous time.

I was able to connect with several friends that Jay and I have made over the years and make new ones. I got to talk with a stepbrother I’ve not seen in 20 years and get on his family text list. And I was able to participate in the archives tours, which proved to be fascinating.

Best of all, I got to spend more than a day with Pat, visiting with her family and driving places neither of us had been since we were kids: Erie Island School, where we met in the third grade; the tiny bungalow where seven kids slept in an attic in which none of us could stand up straight; our family business, “Jaco’s”; Forest Lodge Park, where the outdoor ice-skating rink we skated on every winter is now overgrown with grass; Maple Valley Library, which resides in a much larger building, the old one abandoned, leaving me sad in a way that is difficult to convey.

When we snuck into Erie Island School to have a look around, Pat and I were amazed at how tiny the gymnasium was. As we were leaving, the balding security guard asked us what year we’d graduated high school.

“1976,” we said in tandem.

“Really? That’s the year my parents graduated,” he said enthusiastically.

Did I mention he was balding?

“Excuse me, Pat. I’m going to the parking lot and shoot myself.”

Except for that moment, it was a wonderful trip.

Would I recommend Akron as a romantic destination? Not on your life.

But if you’re forced into it, you just may have a great time.

Adell Shay’s column appears each Saturday. She can be reached by e-mail at divalaughs@gmail.com or by mail at the Daily Breeze, 21250 Hawthorne Blvd., Suite 170, Torrance, CA 90503. To get on the waiting list for her first collection, “Diva Laughs,” or to be added to her upcoming weekly podcast, e-mail her at divalaughs@gmail.com.