This is a tale of two college kids from two completely different worlds. Actually, it’s a story about going to a water park. But the reason my boyfriend and I ended up at the water park in the first place is that he’s from a ski family; they own a condo in Maine and he’s a ridiculously good skiier (that really is him, by the way). I’m from a beach family in Ohio; I am of the firm belief that summer is not summer until one has read at least five books while basking in the South Carolina sun.
Since a) relationships are all about compromise, b) we don’t have a great deal of money, and c) we work too hard (Adam’s working his UROP and a research assistantship at Draper Labs, and I’ve only taken three days off my UROP this summer, two of which were federal holidays) — we decided to take our vacation this summer at Water Country, a water park about an hour away from MIT in Portsmouth, New Hampshire.
Adam’s friends from high school, Malox and Jinkrod (Not their real names. Adam’s dad nicknames everyone in his life.) showed up at the dorm and picked up me, Adam, and our friend Mark, who used to live in our suite and now just lives on our floor.
We drove up to Water Country while blasting Boston — because one of them is an MIT grad and because Adam and Malox like to sing off-key at the top of their lungs.
It was a gorgeous day, 85 degrees and sunny, and we got started right away on one of the innertube rides. We ended up riding every one of the water slides, except for me — I refused to ride the one that was almost vertical.
To assuage me and my “vacation = lazy” sensibilities, we even rode the lazy river. Three times.
What more could you ask for in a vaca?