Or so I'm told. I don't remember much about it, but my clothes smell like booze, bacon and campfire, so I must have had fun.
When my schmoyfriend first invited me for a weekend on the island paradise that is Put-In-Bay I envisioned walks on a rocky beach with the wind whipping my hair and a hoodie comforting me as I read fiction in a chaise lounge... by a lighthouse.
Instead I was trapped on an island that looked distressingly like Alcatraz with his booze-hound friends.
Obviously it turned out far better than I imagined. And I didn't have to read any fiction. Jackpot.
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