There was this young woman, Maria, who used to cut my hair. We dated briefly. I liked the way she kissed me. She has great eyes, and really exposed her soul through them. Unfortunately, we met just after we had both broken off serious relationships and I was not yet ready to start over. She was really nice and is yet another one of those girls who got away. Twenty-five years later we still send Christmas cards to each other.
Maria lives in Florida. It is one place I have barely visited and have never felt like I would ever want to live there. What is it about Florida that turns me off? Is it the Hispanic population? Probably not, since I really like the Southwest where the inter-cultural mixing is just as apparent, if not more so. Is it the lack of seasons? Maybe, but I would seriously consider moving to the Phoenix area tomorrow.
I get this image in my mind that Florida consists mostly of large-breasted women wearing high heels and almost nothing else. Maybe I’m just intimidated by that image (even though I’m sure it’s not true) or perhaps overly concerned about the temptation. I get this other image in my mind that Florida is overstuffed with old retirees that don’t know how to drive. Too much Fark.com, I think.
I also get the idea that Florida is mostly a humid, flat swamp with alligators in people’s back yards, giant snails eating the siding, real estate prices that are out of control and homes that all sit on postage stamp lots.
All of these things are wrong, I know they are. I’ve taken little snippets of news articles and grown them to the size of the state.
I can’t help myself. I need an enemy. It’s Florida.