About 15 years ago on a trip home from the Far East, we planned to stop in Hawaii for a three days to break up the flight. Unfortunately I got a real bad migraine on the way there and spent my first 4 hours in Hawaii puking my guts out. Then we went to a hospital and I was still puking. They gave me some meds to knock me out. I slept the rest of the night and my husband just hung out by the hotel pool.

The next day he decided he wanted to visit the volcano. I spent an hour walking uphill and almost passed out. My husband didn't understand what the problem was, because the migraine was "better." This, and 5000 other stories, are why I hate going on vacations with him, and increasingly travel by myself.