Florida was admitted to the United States in March of 1845, becoming the twenty-seventh state. Florida translates to “Land of Flowers” and, as everyone knows, is commonly referred to as “The Sunshine State”. We enjoy hosting Walt Disney World, Universal Studios, and Busch Gardens in addition to being the first state people think of when they are talking about the show COPS. It is also the land of boob sweat.
Like most people my age, I grew up watching Crockett and Tubbs get their man while wearing pastel t-shirts and linen blazers. Miami Vice, with it’s still recognizable theme song, brought a whole new lifestyle to those of us living in New England. Here we were, pulling our moon boots on over our bread-bagged feet, and on the television are images of strange pink birds and a particularly bouncy young woman in a white bikini top. (This may or may not have been where I first started to think I wasn’t quite like all the other girls in the schoolyard.) They were the epitome of cool and most of us wanted to go see the bright neon lights, wear white linen suits, and drive around in amazing sports cars.
When I came down here to Florida, because it was better for my bride’s health, I was still thinking of Miami Vice (shut up, it was a good show). I’m not sure what I was thinking, but I can tell you that I was not expecting boob sweat. I was not expecting to live inside a sauna that’s been turned all the way up to two-hundred degrees while wearing a wetsuit kind of heat. Florida is hot. We all know this. Florida is a swamp. We also knew this. However “knowing” and “experiencing as an adult with breasts” are two radically different things. Especially for someone like myself, who grew up in Boston, and if we had three straight days of ninety-degree weather, we were officially in a heat wave and that meant free Hoodsie cups.
How to Survive Florida
Powder. So much powder. All the powder you can manage to lay your hands on and brush it on places you didn’t know could sweat. Because they can. And sweaty thighs aren’t sexy, not even mine. I’ve also recently started using a “friction stick” (go on, get your giggles out. Goodness knows my inner adolescent did). It’s better than powder, far less messy and doesn’t have that “medicated” aroma that one associates with their grandmother. Although, to be honest, now I understand why grandparents all smell the same. Gold Bond Medicated Powder can cure anything. Fuck … I think this makes me old.
Gotta run. I hear they are having a two-for-one sale at Beall’s Outlet and … what? Stop looking at me like that. I haven’t gone native. It’s not like I’m couponing for my local Publix.
That’s Sophia’s job.