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told me to send the photo. “He’s probably missing me right now, don’t you think?”
    “Definitely,” I agreed as I texted it to him. “You almost look Brazilian in this. Damn, Instagram is good .”
    We went back to our room to get ready to go out. When I was getting dressed, I noticed a few bumps on my stomach. Then I turned around and realized they were on my back and on my legs, too. “Oh my God, bedbugs!” I yelled to Jackie.
    She ran over and looked at my bump-ridden body. “Those aren’t bedbug bites. I’ve had bedbugs, remember? I got them last time we were here.”
    I did remember. She’d gotten bedbugs when we were in Cabo for our friend Sarah Tilley’s wedding. We were sharing a room and I didn’t get them, which was weird but not something I was going to complain about.
    “What else could they be? They’re everywhere!” I yelled, on the verge of tears. I had planned on living in my bikini the next few days . . . this was not good.
    “Maybe a heat rash? Or an allergic reaction? I’m not sure. Let’s go down to the gift shop and see if they have some Cortaid or something.”
    The woman working at the gift shop was stumped, but she also assured me they were not bedbug bites. “Believe me, I know bedbug bites. I’m Mexican.”
    “Well what else could it be?!” I asked.
    “Maybe an allergy, yes. Or the heat. This should help clear it right up,” she said as she handed me a Mexican version of Cortaid.
    “Do you have the American version of Cortaid? Like . . . Cortaid?” I asked.
    “Is fine, trus me. This will work,” she laughed.
    We went back to the room and I covered myself in the generic Mexican cream. I put on a dress that seemed to cover all the bumps so that people wouldn’t think I was diseased, and then Jackie and I drank our complimentary Coronas (they just keep bringing them all day!) and headed out for a night on the town. I put on a brave face because I didn’t want to ruin our first night of vacation, but inside my weird rash horrified me. I’m just not a fan of having weird shit on my body—but I guess nobody is.
    Downtown Cabo is kind of what you’d expect: a bit of a mess with lots of techno clubs, a few good restaurants, plentyof bars, and a lot of drunk people. I noticed a lot of them looked like they were in college. Then when one group of super-intoxicated girls threw back a round of shots and yelled, “Spring break, wooooooo!” it dawned on me why.
    “Oh my God, we are in Mexico during spring break,” I told Jackie, kind of horrified.
    “Well, the good news is, you probably aren’t the only person in here who is going to develop a rash this weekend,” she responded. Then she looked around, ordered us two shots of tequila, raised them up, and yelled, “Spring break, wooooooo!”
    We spent the next couple of hours barhopping, yelling, “Spring break, woooooo!” It got funnier every time we did it, and we did it a lot. There were definitely tons of spring breakers around, but two guys our age zeroed in on us and offered us some seats at their table. One of them was really cute and the other one seemed to have a nice personality. If they had been girls, he would have been considered the “fat friend.” He wasn’t fat at all, but you know what I mean.
    The cute one was flirting with Jackie, but she made it clear she was happily engaged. He seemed kind of disappointed but continued to train his attention on her. Why am I stuck with the fat friend? I thought. Did the cute one notice the rash?
    We spent the rest of the night hanging out with cute guy and fat friend, the four of us getting pretty drunk. When the bar started to close Jackie suggested they come back to our hotel and drink. “We have an infinity pool, it’s awesome!” she told them.
    I grabbed Jackie by the arm and excused us to the bathroom. “You aren’t doing anything bad, right?” I asked her when we were safely out of earshot.
    “Fuck no! I just thought they were fun and maybe