So, Amber and I are gearing up (literally and figuratively) for our first adult vacation in quite awhile. Adult vacations are marked by the total lack of sleeping on a friend or relative's couch for the duration of the visit. For our trip this year, we're going to Utila, the smallest of the Bay Islands off the coast of Honduras.

We're staying at a quaint little place called the Mango Inn, in a garden cottage, replete with hammock on the porch. We'll be diving daily (and the package includes a night dive), and so we're getting all our SCUBA gear ready. The BC fits, but only barely. Whoever made wetsuits and BCs out of such... shrinkable material ought to get flogged.

Apparently, the Bay Islands of Honduras are swimming in malarial mosquitoes, though, so we're about to go on a four-week regimen of Chloroquine, a malarial prophylaxis (who could possibly pass up an opportunity to use the word 'prophylaxis'?) -- two weeks prior, the week of the trip, and one week following. Sad news is that we'll both be unable to donate blood for 12 months after.

It's also Amber's birthday coming up. I'd let all you in on what her presents are, but every so often, she actually reads this blog, and that might clue her in. Better to save it until Sunday.