It was about 3 in the morning, I was nearly halfway home from a gut-wrenching, loud, rushed, hellish 4-day trip to Panama City, Florida (not my favorite place), with a family (not mine) of 5, three children ranging from 10 to 15. They're friends of my family, and I'm good with their kids, but at this point I'd had quite enough. We stopped at a Waffle House somewhere in Alabama, piled out of the rancid-seaweed-scented Suburban, and got coffee and vanilla Cokes. I was sunburned past the point of recognition and sick to death of the yelling and bickering, so I locked myself in the Waffle House bathroom while they ate just so I could have a bit of quiet. I had my brand shiny new iZone camera, and got this lovely sticky-film picture of my uber-sexy plaid pants and sunburned tummy to forever remind me of the wonderful calming effects of Alabama Waffle House bathrooms.