Sometimes when your suitcases have been packed, your passport is in your pocket and the plane tickets are in your hands, you get a gut feeling that something is going to go wrong on your vacation. You’ll end up trying to remember whether you switched off the iron back at home or are suffering after realizing you’ve forgotten your phone charger. All these bad moments can be amplified thanks to friends that post their perfect beach photos.
9. What happens when you fall asleep outside:
8. “Came to Greece for a relaxing holiday in the sun. It has rained for 5 days straight, and we are leaving tomorrow.”
7. “The hotel promised us a sea-view room. They actually weren’t lying.”
5. When one obstacle has passed, but it’s still too early to relax:
4. “How’s that for an ocean view on your beach vacation?”
2. “When you wake up for a sunrise at Niagara Falls but forgot to check the weather forecast…”
1. When you’re having your first romantic trip on gondolas, but the traffic is too heavy:
Has anything similar happened to you? Please tell us your stories in the comments and perhaps our next compilation will be about you!
I Allowed a Homeless Woman to Stay in My Garage—One Day I Walked in Unannounced and Was Shocked by What I Saw
I tapped the steering wheel, trying to shake the weight on my chest, when I spotted a disheveled woman digging through a trash can. I slowed down, drawn in by her grim determination.
She looked fragile yet fierce, fighting for survival. Without thinking, I pulled over, rolled down my window, and asked, “Do you need help?”
Her response was sharp but tired: “You offering?”
“I just saw you there,” I admitted, stepping out. “It didn’t seem right.”
“What’s not right is life,” she scoffed, crossing her arms. “You don’t strike me as someone who knows much about that.”
“Maybe not,” I replied, then asked if she had a place to stay.
“No,” she said, and I felt compelled to offer my garage as a temporary home. To my surprise, she accepted, albeit reluctantly.
Over the next few days, we shared meals and conversations. Lexi’s sharp wit broke through my loneliness, but I could sense her hidden pain.
One afternoon, I barged into the garage and froze. There, sprawled across the floor, were grotesque paintings of me—chains, blood, a casket. Nausea hit me.
That night, I confronted her. “What are those paintings?”
Her face went pale. “I didn’t mean for you to see them. I was just… angry.”
“So you painted me as a monster?” I demanded.
She nodded, shame in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I struggled to forgive her. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
The next morning, I helped her pack and drove her to a shelter, giving her some money. Weeks passed, and I felt the loss of our connection.
Then, a package arrived—another painting. This one was serene, capturing a peace I hadn’t known. Inside was a note with Lexi’s name and number.
My heart raced as I called her. “I got your painting… it’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. I didn’t know if you’d like it,” she replied.
“You didn’t owe me anything,” I said, reflecting on my own unfairness.
“I’m sorry for what I painted,” she admitted. “You were just… there.”
“I forgave you the moment I saw that painting. Maybe we could start over.”
“I’d like that,” she said, a smile evident in her voice.
We made plans to meet again, and I felt a flicker of hope for what could be.
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