It’s Official: I’m an F.O.F.

When growing up in Jersey, we treated people from Florida as lower class citizens. Of course I was a child then – or as much of a child as I’ve ever been in this life. These refugees from the southernmost peninsula never drove over 25 mph, always wore sun visors the size of umbrellas, donned cardigans if a breeze passed over the ocean and So Much More. I remember renting a car trailer once & being mightily relieved it had a Florida plate since that meant everyone would be passing me to get out of my way.

They all seemed to have big teeth & sported off-color tans. Their clothes were too bright, voices too loud & everything they said was either a whine or a demand. They wore shoes with no socks – not sandals, but real shoes. And they wore these in church.

Their cars were capacious, always occupying more than one parking space at a time – Chrysler Newports or Country Squire Station Wagons that got 4 miles to the gallon. They uniformly frowned on smokers. The women had frizzy hair & the men had sunburned bald spots.

Oh, I was such a bad kid.

Now I myself am an F.O.F. – a Florida Old Fart. I drive a white SUV that looks like 97.4% of all other cars on the road. I uniformly drive under the limit – an apology for all the zoomers driving cars 5″ off the road without mufflers. I drive in the Granny Lane – now don’t get hot under the collar here, it’s called that for a reason. I do have grandchildren, yeh?

I draw the line on visors & floppy sun hats but I have one of each hanging on over-the-door hook behind my bedroom door. I bray when I laugh. I leave outsize tips & have trouble chewing my food. I kvetch for no reason & have hair in my ears. My bathing suit is too big in the crotch so I have to wear shorts that clash with its bright floral pattern. My closet looks like the Hagley Museum Garden Tour Photo. I seldom wear closed-toe shoes & will do a lot for a good grilled cheese sandwich.

This all goes to show you how you can live to be mocked by your own self for early-onset prejudice against tourists from a tourist state visiting a different tourist state. I do recall what it was like to drive a car you could fit your kitchen into, but I was married at the time & it was my husband’s work wagon.

Karma is a burden to bear. I’m doing my level best.