In every Paradise, in every Utopia, there is a toll to be paid for living there. A tariff is required in order to happily reside in one of the most desirable places on the planet. In this beautiful slice of heaven, that toll comes in the form of tourists, who arrive in October from the frozen North, like so many columns of cockroaches caught unaware in the middle of a dark night in the trailerhood.
They arrive by the thousands, by plane, by boat, by million dollar motor homes. For six long and arduous months they clog our roads and favorite restaurants. They are especially lethal on the streets and highways, because, after spending six months a year here for many seasons, they feel quite familiar with things, but don’t realize that their memories have become clouded and that things here at home do not necessarily remain static and frozen in place since their last departure.
Every fifteen minute trip to the supermarket turns into a life threatening hour long descent into vehicular hell. I invoke all my guardian angels before turning the key in the ignition, “Please God, don’t let any other cars touch mine today. Thank you. Amen”
The most common sighting is a car stopped right in the center lane of traffic, with Sidney wildly gesticulating to the left and Mabel’s arm stubbornly pointing right. Agonizing moments pass while they duke it out, heedless of the three thousand cars behind them, patiently waiting for their decision.
It must be the vacation mentality that causes these Snowbirds, or Snowturds, as I lovingly call them, to become skunk drunk most nights of the week. They come staggering out of bars and restaurants and jump in their cars and lurch along to the next nightclub. These delightful visitors do enjoy their discounts, coupons, and their happy hour, so most of this activity takes place between the glaringly sunny hours of 3 to 7pm, just when we natives are trying to commute home from work. And some folks think God has no sense of humor!
It was whilst standing by the side of the road, contentedly waving bye bye to the Michigan, Minnesota, and Ontario license plates, that Mr. Adorable and I decided this exodus definitely was cause to celebrate. We threw a “The Tourists Are Leaving” party, where our guests had to dress in their geekiest tourist garb.
Mucho drunken fun was had, but now it’s time to head into the kitchen to whip up a little something. SO MANY TOURISTS….SO FEW RECIPES