I drove the back roads to Boca on Saturday and went through Clewiston, America’s Sweetest Town. I yelped with delight because it’s in the middle of nowhere and I kind of like the middle of nowhere, especially if it’s sweet and has a road called Sugarland Highway.
I grew up in the middle of nowhere, which sucks when you live there but is something you want once you leave.
If I could, I would move back to the middle of nowhere or send all the crotchety, annoying old people to the middle of nowhere, so that they could buy 8 boxes of CVS tissues at the advertised price of $.99/box from a CVS in the middle of nowhere, using a check from a bank in the middle of nowhere to pay the $8.47 total. I picture them demanding in overloud tones, their raincheck for Crest Pro Spinbrush refill heads from the cashier at the CVS in the middle of nowhere instead of the cashier at the CVS in my town during my lunch hour when I try to avoid crotchety, annoying old people.
I would also like to send all the insufferable people with big-ass Chevy Silverado 4×4 trucks and an aversion to turning their engines off to the middle of nowhere, but their stinky truck exhaust would pollute the middle of nowhere which wouldn’t be very good.
It would be better if I could live in the middle of nowhere so that when I went to the park during lunch there wouldn’t be insufferable people with big-ass Chevy Silverado 4×4 trucks that would park behind me and leave their engine running while they strolled around taking pictures of their big-ass truck. Then I wouldn’t have to glare at them and sigh and squirm and think about what kind of insufferable boor would leave their engine running for 7 minutes in a park designed for the appreciation of quiet repose. 7 minutes is a long time just like a muffin can be very filling.
I have plans for the middle of nowhere. Just pick me up and plop me down. I’ll find my way back when I’m ready.