I've got an idea for a new story. A man goes on a South seas vacation where a pleasure boat takes people to watch an actual eruption, but breathing the smoke causes him to come down with pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, and the pressure of a ladies' swimsuit on his ribcage is the only thing that keeps his coughing under control. Of course, they have to pack the cups to keep it tight all over, and one thing leads to another. By the time the package tour has them climbing Taumatawhakatangihangakoauauotamateaturipukakapikimaungahoronukupokaiwhenuakitanatahu in New Zealand, she's accepted as pretty much one of the girls.

No, that's a stupid idea. (I apologize if acts of floccinaucinihilipilification offend anyone.)