Mr. Darling and I are taking a vacation! Not until next year, but it's still exciting! He will be graduating at the end of May, and his residency will start July 1, so that gives us a whole month where he will be neither a medical school student nor a resident physician, and he deserves a fantastic vacation after all of his hard work! Right now, we're thinking Mexico, but we're shopping around online, so I'll keep you posted on the fabulous locale we decide to visit once Mr. Darling becomes Dr. Darling!
As a result of vacation planning, I was thinking today about vacations. Namely, bad vacation moments. The old standards, like sunburn and long car rides are the obvious ones, but I remembered one particular incident that makes me laugh (in retrospect, of course - I'm not sure I laughed quite as much at the time.) I'm sharing it with you all because, hey, we all need a good laugh every now and again.
Allow me to set the scene. It was summer - I believe it was a Friday night. I was on a weekend trip with my high school youth group, and we visited Canada to see Niagara Falls. I was wearing jeans, which interestingly enough, happened to be the only pair of long pants I brought along on the trip (since it was summer, and I had mistakenly assumed that the weather would be nice enough to allow me to wear shorts.) After having seen the falls, we were walking around the city as a group, and I was chatting with a good friend of mine. He suddenly stopped, leaned over, and... barfed. On my leg. I tried to get it off with some napkins hastily grabbed from a restaurant, but the damage had been done. After a four hour van ride (we got lost... several times), we arrived at the hotel well after midnight, and I did the only thing I could think to do - washed my vomit-encrusted jeans in the hotel sink with one of those ridiculous little bars of soap they give you.
The next morning, (which arrived only a few hours after we went to sleep), we awoke to unseasonably cold weather. My only clothing option was the still-damp, still-smelly jeans. I decided that the only way I could hope to dry the jeans at all was to iron them with the hotel iron, so I asked another friend to leave it on while I showered. When I came out of the shower (in my underwear, as my pants were still wet), I turned the corner and... ran into the ironing board and the steaming hot iron that my friend had accommodatingly left on at my request. For the remainder of the day, I walked around wearing jeans that smelled of vomit, were uncomfortably damp, and rubbed mercilessly against the fresh burn on my hip.
And that, my friends, is one of my less-than-perfect vacation moments. Care to share your own?