A WOMAN’S GUIDE TO SAFE AND JOYFUL TRAVEL

I met 50-something Roy in a campground dotted with saguaro cacti whose two curving appendages gave them the impression of arms. Given the choice between seeing him again or embracing a cactus, I would’ve leapt at a spiky squeeze.

“Seems we’re on the same schedule,” Roy said when we “happened” to meet several days later at Tonto National Monument. Above us, the sunset turned the sky an embarrassed pink.

I emitted a hope-this-asshole-gets-that-I-don’twant-to-talk mumble.

He didn’t. “So, where are you staying tonight?”

“With my boyfriend, who’s down in the campground,” I said.

“Well, guess I’ll head down, too,” Roy said. It never ceased to amaze me that the most surefire way to get rid of one guy was to pretend you were with another.

Then he said, “If you ditch him, we can meet later for