When Jim and I took our first trip to Florida, we got a kick
out of hanging out at his parent’s trailer park with the seniors. It was fun
for a couple of reasons. Firstly – they could drink us under the table and still
be able to kill us at euchre. Secondly - they were like exotic
wrinkly creatures, all wrapped in hats and glasses, and in comparison we felt
strong and reckless.
We also loved the hot sun, though we seemed to be the only
ones. Even though the snowbirds came for the weather- they made a point to stay
inside. Wandering through the compound we could here them laughing and watching
TV, but they were safely behind a screen. Even the restaurant were glassed in –
not a patio in sight.
We were particularly disappointed one night – as we snuck
off on our own to go to a fish restaurant. Expecting to eat outdoors, we were a
confronted by shiny panes of glass. Behind it were sea of little white heads
sipping on cocktails, and with the blue walls and fake plants, it felt like we
were staring into a giant aquarium. Jim and I looked at each other, in our smug
youth, and wondered what the f*ck was the point of being in Florida if you’re
going to sit inside. The fun was on our side of the glass!
Me and Jim. (No, not really) |
Fast forward 'till last week, and I’m in Miami taking a tour of the Art Deco district. ‘Is it just me,’ I wondered aloud, ‘or is anyone else burning up
inside?’ My companions, all fresh
faced and breezy, looked at me blankly and shook their heads. Apparently it was
just me. As our little group strolled through the streets, I dashed from one
piece of shade to the next – disappearing into doorways and hiding under trees. Our guide, who was about 180 years old, looked cool as a cucumber in his
short-sleeved shirt. But I was melting, and when we passed a garish souvenir
shop, I bolted inside and bought the first hat I saw, along with a few bottles
of water.
Rejoining the group, I felt a little bit better. And by
‘better’ I meant that I no longer feared passing out on the sidewalk in front
of Gianni Versace’s mansion in a pool of my own vomit. Still it was pretty darned
unpleasant. I couldn’t tell if it
was just one long hot flash or if in the process of being rewired I’d lost any
tolerance for heat. I was dragging
myself around feeling like a furnace wearing a fedora.
Once our tour was over, my friends and I went off in search
of tacos and margaritas, and at Katie’s suggestion, a nice patio.
Are you serious?!’ I squeaked, ‘It’s kind of hot, don’t you
think?’ Another round of blank looks. I pointed feebly to a restaurant across
the street. No patio in sight but it did have a neon cocktail dancing in the
window. Taking pity on me and my
red blotchy face, we went in, got settled in a booth, and ordered a round of
fish tacos and margaritas.
Outside, hoards of people in pastel colours sashayed down
the sidewalk. And watching them
was an event in itself – even if we were on the other side of the glass.
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