We're spending the next week in sunny Florida. Don't get toooo excited: we're in Fort Myers, the hardest-hit American city in the mortgage crisis and kind of a sad little coastal town.
Jeff's family business invested in some real estate in a Golden Girlsy golfing community, which is sure to be hilarious. When he traveled there earlier this year to check it out, he said it was an alarming sea of blue hair and getting a meal after 6PM was near-impossible. So, not glamourous, but definitely warm. I have a strange irrational fear of Tropical America, so I'm sure there will be stories to tell upon our return.
We have no plans for this vacation. We will rest and drink and soak up the sun. The past few days have been terribly wintery here in Toronto, so we look forward to getting the hell out of it and doing next-to-nothing in another place. Our condo is fully equipped, so we'll cook lots of meals (maybe something fun and Cuban!) and do it on the cheap.
Nick and Natasha are coming along. We'll sip gin and tonics on the lanai, just like Dorothy, Sophia, Blanche and Rose. Cheesecake! As I sit here thinking about it, we four are very much each of those ladies: I'm obviously Dorothy, Nick is most certainly Rose. Natasha, being the feisty Italian mama, is our Sophia, which leaves Jeff as Blanche. Outspoken and saucy, yes he is. A slutty woman of a certain age? Not so much, but close enough.
I'll be reading Augusten Burroughs' new Christmas-tinged set of essays, You Better Not Cry. Also, aside from GQ and Details, Esquire and a pile of Toronto Life back issues, I'll crack into Michael Greenberg's Hurry Down Sunshine, the story of his daughter's journey through mental illness.