Florida Wheels

“No. No, no, no, no, no.”

“Ah, come on, Melissa. Why not?”

Melissa folded her arms across her chest. “Because I’m not 90 years old. That’s why.”

Geoff walked closer to the row of golf carts lined up outside Milligan’s Seafood. He examined each one appreciatively, nodding his head and grinning at various gadgets affixed as decoration. “Dude, these are sweet! I’d take this one.”

He motioned to a golf cart that sported miniature Playboy mud flaps across the backs wheels. A silver Playboy decal lounged across the short hood of the golf cart. Fuzzy dice hung from the rearview mirror.

“It looks like it belongs to some perverted old man,” Melissa spat as she turned away and headed down the empty sidewalk. Most of the stores had CLOSED signs displayed in their windows. “What, does this town close up at five, or what?”

Geoff continued to make his way down the line of golf carts. He conceded that one of them was lame, just like Melissa said. A jumble of golf clubs covered with multi-colored crocheted covers hung from the back. An “I Heart My Grandpa” mug rested in the cup holder, and more crocheted covers stretched across the seats. Geoff moved on.

“Hey, Mel. Look at this one. You’d like this one.”

Melissa grudgingly moved closer and gave the golf cart a swift glance. It was covered with pictures of golden retrievers. She did like dogs, but found this tacky. “Can we just go inside?” she asked Geoff. “I’m thirsty.”

The bar at Milligan’s was already crowded; the restaurant packed. “Oh my God,” Melissa said as she surveyed the crowd. “It’s only 5:15 and these people are already eating their dinners, Geoff.” Geoff shrugged and hiked his leg up on the bar step as the bartender moved toward him.

“Geoff, these people are eating.”

Melissa continued to stare with her mouth agape. Geoff collected their beers from the bartender and handed one to Melissa. “It’s okay. We should be able to get a table soon.” Geoff started toward the hostess, but Melissa blocked him.

“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying. It’s 5:15,” she enunciated loudly. “Half of these people are already ready for dessert.”

Geoff pulled on his beer and nodded. “So?”

“So?” Melissa looked at him, flabbergasted. “So, I’m 27 years old, Geoff.” Geoff stared at her and took another drink as he eyed the busboy clearing a table. Melissa followed his gaze. “I don’t want to eat early bird specials. I don’t want to live in a town that closes up at 5:00. And I don’t want to drive around in a golf cart.”

“Why not? That would be so cool!” Geoff said.

Melissa set her nearly full bottle on the bar and shoved toward the door. Sunlight streamed in and Melissa lowered her sunglasses back over her eyes. “I am not moving to Florida, Geoff. If you want to turn into a senior citizen and drive a golf cart around town, then do it yourself, but count me out. I’m not going to live here. I’m not moving to Florida.”