Grandpa Florida

I think I speak for all of us when I say “I love Florida.”

I mean that, of course, in that special way that we reserve for “I love Grandpa (and make special allowances for him).”  Like Grandpa, Florida is great to visit on vacation, even if it is always good to get home again, afterwards.  Like Grandpa, Florida can get a little crazy in his politics.  The rest of us know that, like Grandpa, Florida sometimes takes a little longer, so we need to be patient.  We know that, like Grandpa, Florida sometimes leaves a mess for the rest of us to clean up.  And we know that, like Grandpa, Florida can’t always make up its mind.

That doesn’t mean we don’t love Florida; we do.  It’s just we’d rather not have Florida in charge of getting us to the theater on time; wouldn’t he just be happier to stay home and visit with us when we get back?  Can we make that suggestion for the next election?  Florida, don’t bother yourself; we’ll figure it out and get back to you when it’s over.

What difference would that make to the process anyway?  Every election, Florida stands there window shopping for days after everyone else has made their purchase: “I kinda want the red one, but I kinda want the blue one.  I dunno.  Red.  Blue.  The red goes better with my comfortable shorts, but the blue would look nice if I ever wanted to dress up.”

Who cares?  He’s gonna be happy half the time, and crabby as hell half the time whichever way we go.  Why don’t we just pick it for him every year like we did this year.  Let’s just make it official: on the first Tuesday in November of even numbered years, America goes to the polls; and Florida waits at home, watching on television to see how it comes out.