Palm trees, sugar-like sand, cloudless days and temperatures in the mid-80s seems to describe the perfect week in Florida for Spring Break.
Cool breezes, sleeveless shirts, flip-flops, 911 and the sheriff's department is a more accurate description of my holiday.
On a tropical evening during a visit with my grandparents in Sarasota, Fla., my friend Steph and I decided to take an evening walk. We had already spent most of the day at Siesta beach and decided a few more hours of fresh air would help us sleep better.
King's Gate Park, the retirement community in which my grandparents live, has streets that intertwine. Evening walks are therefore perfect, because no matter what, you'll end up where you began.
After tiring from the abrasive cement and wearing only a thin layer of foam on our feet, we decided to kick back on some benches by the tennis courts.
During our conversation, Steph thought she had seen my grandparents' station wagon driving around, but she thought that was ludicrous and dismissed the thought right away. Two 20-year-olds can take care of themselves, right?
We knew we were safe in King's Gate Park because of the gated entrance - the type that requires a swipe card to gain entrance.
I hadn't heard any rumors about any denture-stealing monsters lurking amid the palm trees and crab-grass of the small village, so I knew we were safe in the dark talking about what the future held for Steph and I.
The stars were clear. The conversation was good. The air was tepid and relaxing. The time ran laps around us, because after leaving at only 8 p.m., we looked at our watches and realized that it was 10:34.
We'd been gone a little longer than expected. After talking for a few minutes longer, we decided it was probably a good idea to head back to my grandparents' place so they wouldn't worry.
Why worry? We were wearing sleeveless shirts and flip-flops.
Once we looped around the intertwined streets, we finally made it back to my grandparents' small house when they rushed out, desperate with questions and haggling with their jackets.
"Where on Earth have you two been?" my grandmother asked. "We've been worried sick."
Steph and I gave each other sideways glances, unsure how to respond.
"We were just on a walk around the compound," I said.
"Your grandfather has been driving around for the past hour looking for you guys," she said.
Steph was right when she "thought" she saw my grandparents' station wagon.
"We called 911 and the sheriff's department because you guys have been gone for three hours and we didn't know what to do."
I tried to tell them we lived on our own at school and we were capable of taking care of ourselves, but they still felt responsible for us. I guess it's the parenting instinct.
Once we entered the house, my grandfather was on the phone with the sheriff informing him that they "found" us. For the remainder of the night, Steph and I felt like we had to ask permission to leave the room or obtain a permission slip to go to the bathroom.
In the end, all was OK, and they were amused to have some excitement added to their day. Steph and I were just amused.
If there's a lesson to be learned here, be sure to pack plenty of sleeveless shirts and flip-flops if the weather for the vacation is going to be phenomenal.
Write to Evan at: emann@mr-potatohead.com
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