Panama City Florida, August 1998. The air conditioning in our condo went out on Day 2 of our stay and was never fixed, so the whole trip was one long humidity-fest. (Looking back, were we that cheap that we just couldn’t ditch the condo and pile everyone into a hotel room? Apparently we were.)
We were vacationing with my sister and her 5-year-old D. Somehow my niece and my D (who was eight at the time) decided that they MUST go to the haunted house but they couldn’t go by themselves. Of course, they both started screaming (loudly) as soon as we got inside this place - yes, it was scary, IT’S A HAUNTED HOUSE! We had to drag them through this hot, humid, loud, dark, sweltering place, and it took forever to get out. And then they wanted to go back in!
On the plus side, no one got sick and no one vomited. On the down side, we spent a week feeling miserably hot and tired (who could sleep?) Sometimes, in my nightmares, I can sill hear my niece screaming in the Haunted House, and to this day, when one of this is complaining about the heat, some one will say, “Yes, but is it Panama City hot?”