Ah, spring. The dogwoods bloom, the spring breakers break and in Tabu-land, the snowbirds take flight.
It was wonderful, they say, as they wave from their SUVs, heading back to New York and Minnesota. We'll see you next year!
And as we wipe our tearful eyes, everyone in Florida waves sadly till they're over the horizon of I-95.
Then, we all make a rush for our favorite restaurants and bars, now blissfully tourist-free.
Thank God for those fat-cat snowbirds, for without them our coffers would be lighter. But thank God when they leave, and local life takes back its lazier, sun-dappled pace.
For me-- and my girl Allie, who positively itches with wanderlust, spring's the overture to our own journeys.... and with nothing but stilettos in our suitcases, there's only one thing that could be on our minds.
Foot-long hot dogs. After all, isn't that Chicago is famous for? Oh, wait, that's Coney Island. (I always get those two mixed up!)
No, we adore Chicago with a passion worthy of grand opera. Get us up on Michigan Ave-- ensconced in the silky linens of a 4-star hotel-- waiting breathlessly for our darling midwestern suitors to arrive.... well, life just doesn't get much sweeter.
Seasons always resume their rituals, no matter who's watching. And when we see our calendars inching toward April, we can hardly wait to take it all in.
So if you see two Florida flamingos-- one sun-kissed, one ivory-- positively glowing with genuine delight, please don't hesitate to welcome us "home."
Hollywood will wait.