The world has been an awful mess this past month. It wasn't doing really well before, but this month has been a doozy. As I impatiently await the Bulldog's return from the hell-hole he has currently been assigned my thoughts drift to my future move to Florida. There is the real Florida, and then there is the Florida-In-My-Mind (FIMM) which exists somewhere North of Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville and South of the Okefenokee Swamp, on the Gulf coast of Florida nowhere near last year's horrific oil spill, or the excesses of coastal over-development. FIMM is a happy place where the lifeguards don't care if you toss back an alcoholic beverage on the beach as long as you share.
It's a Florida I first turned my sophisticated twenty-something nose up at many long years ago. I was too deep, too artistic to appreciate the tiki-tacky charm of my soon to be native state. No mermaids for me, no waters-ski pyramids, no rides on glass-bottom boats either. Like so many twenty-somethings, I was a pretentious idiot.
There must be some myth that is a metaphorical match to my current state of affairs: Some soul doomed to troll EBay for all eternity in search of the ultimate Florida souvenir, having snubbed the ski-pyramid in her misguided youth.
Then it occurs to me : I WANT TO BE A WEEKI WACHEE MERMAID!!!
I would be SO good!!! I could share my lunch with a fish and dazzle tourists from across the land.
Oh, the glamour of it all. Mermaids have even explored the MOON!!!
Who wouldn't want to be a Weeki Wachee Mermaid?