"Where shall I go, what shall I do?" Okay, I'm not Scarlett O'Hara, but we are still milling over quite a few honeymoon destinations. We've even got a list (of course). I guess for most of these places our biggest expense will be airline tickets. If I win one of the many vacation contests I enter online, looks like we're going to the Caribbean. To be safe, though, I guess we should make backup arrangements. Lots of those wedding planning sites have honeymoon ideas, complete with beautiful photos of pristine, empty beaches with only one attractive couple on them. It's safe to rule out mountains with skiing, camping and hiking because that's not my idea of fun. The only time I went camping was in Italy, and it was a total disaster. Granted, my dad is a total jerk who just didn't want to get a hotel room so rented a crappy tent even though it was freezing and we stayed on some outer corner of a military base with other like-minded cheapskates (most of the time saving money is good, but if you're making your family miserable, you should re-think your plans). If you needed to go potty, you'd better make the 500 yard dash to the community restroom before you know you have to go, because you'd be standing in line for a while. And don't forget the nasty group shower thing they had going on. Oh, privacy, where'd you go? I was 9 or 10, and that was the worst trip of my life. Not only the accommodations, mind you, but the entire trip. Our car, a Hornet station wagon, had a carbon monoxide leak, so even though it was cold we had to keep the windows cracked so we wouldn't die. I remember my sister being asleep in the very back of the wagon and my dad making one of the rare pit stops, opening the hatch and pulling her out and spanking her to wake her up. She was overcome by the poison, but she did wake up. It affected me, too, because I went to use the restroom and the next thing I knew I was propped up against a wall and my mom was banging on the door asking if I was okay. I had passed out and slid down the wall to a seated position. Not fun. Add on top of that a trip to Rome where late afternoon we made it to the coliseum but it was closed, so we had to stand outside and look in the doorway. We were starving but dad wouldn't stop for food, he just kept driving around and around the same circle in Rome (a la Chevy Chase in European Vacation, "Look kids, Big Ben, Parliament"). Finally he found an exit road and off we headed for the campground. Only by then it was very dark, we were exhausted and hungry and sick from the carbon monoxide, so he finally relented to my mom and found a little hotel. When the little old lady who owned it brought up broth for us to eat, it was the best food I'd ever eaten. So, not only do I not like camping, I also don't like Rome. It didn't even make it on the list. We'd love to go to London, though, or Paris. I think I'd like to do that for a trip other than a honeymoon, though. I don't know if I'm being silly or romantic, but I don't want to get a passport until I can get it in my new last name.