Hakuna Matata? Nope, Pretty Worried.

A smear of red ink leaks its way into her vision. The tile beneath her confused, throbbing head is cold and hard. She opens her eyes a little wider to the blurry words hung above them. “This is why men…” she reads. A picture of a red-bikinied butt on a tall, bent-over blonde enters the frame. “Keep the beer on the bottom shelf.”

Recognition slowly seeps in. She realizes she’s on the communal bathroom floor beneath her treehouse hostel room. The sudden, middle-of-the-night climb down the steep, winding treehouse stairs must have caused her to momentarily black out. Continue reading