I think it was the summer between my 9th and 10th grade years. I didn't want to be there. My brother didn't want to be there. I am sure my parents were tired of both of us. Spoiled, right? Complaining about being in Hawaii. Smart kids we were. Keep in mind, though, we traveled a lot. We lived in Europe for over 6 years and went everywhere. So to us, this was nothing. But that is not the story.

It was our 2nd or 3rd day there and my brother and I are swimming in the ocean. Suddenly, I get stung on the ankle! It buuuurned. Hurt so much. It was a Portuguese man-o-war! One of its tentacles clipped me.

Well that was enough to keep me out of the water for the rest of the trip. My brother, however, swam everyday and nothing ever happened to him. Well, it was the day before we were scheduled to leave. My brother convinced me to get in the water one...more...time.

Wouldn't you know it, another damn man-o-war got me. This time, it wrapped itself around my forearm. My whole are blew up to a puffy red. Talk about pain. To this day, I HATE going in to the ocean.

Isn't it funny that the only real thing i remember about this "paradise" was those damn Portuguese man-o-war's?