Spring Break

Graci and I are on vacation at the beach. We are sleeping in until 10, drinking Blue Moon in the middle of the day, reading books that have not a damn thing to do with medicine, and we're swimming...in the ocean.

We are the only two women in this part of Florida who aren't wearing make-up and silicone breasts--we simply refused to pack them. We're also the only two women in the water. We're out there with a bunch of wannabe surfers, getting toppled in the surf. We have spent the last year of school trying not to get our feet knocked out from under us, and we have spent the last week of vacation laughing our asses off as the waves do just that. My poorly fitting bathing suit has also been a source of entertainment, as every few minutes I will look down to discover that a nipple has, once again, escaped. If Graci had a nickel for every time she has said, "Uh, your boob's out again," she'd be able to pay off her med school debt.

And speaking of my friend, I learn something new about her every day here. For example, the bitch is freaking obsessed with sea foam--those millions of little bubbles that float on top of the water after a wave crashes. She started by just pointing it out, "Look," she said, wide-eyed, "sea foam!" But, when I didn't seem to appreciate it, she persisted. Gingerly resting her hands on the delicate bubbles, she said, "Feel it." I did. It felt like bubbles. Whatever. She saw that whatever attitude in my eyes and noticed that several foamy waves had passed without my even feeling the bubbles. So, she finally resorted to just yelling at me, "Sea foam...DO IT." And by that she meant, gently touch the bubbles and appreciate their delicate beauty...NOW, dammit. And I tried. Really, I did. But, I was laughing too hard to DO IT properly.

She's going to make me stay on vacation until I get it right.