Well, I just came back from a week and a half long, much needed vacation. We spent five of those ten days sleeping out under the trees, swaying half drunk in hammocks all night. I’m exaggerating, of course. I wasn’t really that drunk. My boyfriend however… let’s just say he fell into a ditch.
Imagine sneaking around a state park with a bunch of your mildly inebriated friends, walking down a gravel path late at night. Crunch, crunch. The flashlights are off, to avoid attracting unwanted ranger attention. They flash on occasionally, when we are unsure of where to step.
Suddenly, a crash! All of the flashlights turn on and wave around, trying to figure out what happened. A moan alerts us, and all flashlights go to the BF, who has somehow managed to step into the rainwater ditch off the edge of the path. He’s fine, and we’re all dying of laughter. He picks bits of grass and mud out of his feet. Picks up his sunglasses, which have been either on his forehead or over his eyes the entire night. We move on.
This particular memory will stay with me for the rest of my life. There’s just something about a 6’6″ man falling into a ditch that leaves you in tears of laughter.