A little off the drabble topic, but I have a vacation story that I think is funny even though it was embarrassing at the time. Trouble is, no one laughs when I tell it. Maybe it's my delivery. Maybe you just had to be there. I've given up trying to trim it to 100 words. What would make this funnier?

When I was little, Dad would sometimes make crêpes for breakfast as a special treat. We would eat them with powdered sugar, or jelly, or honey, or even peanut butter. But that ended after Dad got remarried and was no longer in charge of breakfast.

Years later, during the summer break after seventh grade, I had just turned thirteen when we went for a week's vacation to the island of Penang, Malaysia, and stayed at a resort hotel right on the beach. It was the poshest place I had ever been--even at breakfast the dining room had real china and fine crystal and napkins folded into fancy shapes. So perhaps I should have been a little more careful reading the menu our first morning there, but "crêpes" caught my eye and brought back fond memories, and that's what I ordered.

Heads turned throughout the dining room when the waiter strode in from the kitchen with a huge flaming platter held high. I couldn't believe it when he came to our table.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Your order, sah. Crêpes Suzette."

There was nothing for it but to put on a brave face, ignore all the stares, and dig in.

(fine, so I'm greedy)

If Only...

Florence, the Arno spilling along under bridges dating back to Hadrian. The Ponte Vecchio leads to busts of long-dead icons, to gelato, to Michaelangelo, to The Prisoners; the other way and the city smells like the de Medicis.

Warmth, grappa, bats wheeling overhead in the Piazza della Signori. We'll sleep the sleep of the decadent at the Hotel Grand, on the Lungarno. Tomorrow, we'll take the night train to Paris, waking at sunrise, France rattling by.

Perfection is relative, and this comes close. But for true perfection, I would have both of you, Nic and Nicky, bracketing me, loving me.

Hee. Lovely. And there's nothing wrong with greedy for a "best vacation" challenge.

I'm so overwrought with lousy vacations that I hesitate to post. Also, I'm in the midst of planning for our spring break. I don't wanna jinx anything.

I don't wanna jinx anything.

BWAH! I know the feeling...

Best Vacation drabble:

I stayed up till the sun crept over the horizon, little fuschia feet tiptoing into the lavender bleed. I'm tired, but happy, sitting on the quiet beach, smoking one last joint with Francie, before we all head into the cottage to go to sleep.

I love the last two contemplative hours of the night, sitting around the dying campfire, someone playing with my hair, making quiet jokes, talking about everything and nothing. Pulling a girlfriend into the darkness for some confidences shared, some secret thoughts revealed.

I know I'll be woken up by the smell of some truly fine coffee wafting through the heavy tropical air, music playing on the radio, and the muted sounds of my friends laughing, arguing, joking from downstairs.

I will wake up with a smile, holler "Hey, y'all, keep it the fuck DOWN!" and throw on a pink sarong over my turqiose swimsuit, brush my teeth, run downstairs. Nathan will be cooking bacon and mugging for everone. Fran will make some vicious crack about my horrible bedhead, even as she hands me a cup of coffee just the way I like it.

We'll all straggle down to the beach, feet bare and sweetly sandy, two of the guys lugging a cooler full of strawberry daiquiris, cold beer, water, and leftover jerk chicken. Kelly and Micheal will be kissing and slapping other people's asses, and I...I am happy, happy, happy to be spending the day in the sun, on the sand, in the water, in the breeze, floating in the euphoria of knowing I am loved.

Over 100 words, but I don't care. So there!

It's really nice, Erin. Worth the extra words. I can just feel the atmosphere, the camaraderie.

Definitely a nice feel, and it would have suffered from being trimmed down, I think.

I really want to rent a cottage in Jamaica with all my friends. Long-standing fantasy of mine.

EDIT: And thanks, Liese, Deb!

Not really a drabble, it just reminded me. I actually have something written at the time somewhere, but I just looked and deciphering my handwriting tonight would cause major headaches.

I love trains. Steadily chugging out of Barcelona, I'm introduced to my first daylight views of this country in flashes between buildings and tunnels. High rise apartments in slight disrepair, laundry drying haphazardly on the balconies. Bedraggled corner gardens, clotheslines supporting tomato vines. Bright, contrasting hues, the turquoise, the fuschia, the oddest yellows and limes not found in nature.

Redbuds and azaleas flash past, a little darkhaired girl in a faded, dirt smudged dress waves to the strangers in the train as she races through the sand and sagebrush.

And I realize why it all looks so familiar. The colors, in the buildings, in the people, in faded clothes and bright paints. In the greyish green of the vegetation and the shocking brightness of the flowers: this is a collision of my birthplace and my chosen college town.