I Went To Florida and All I Got Was the Secret of the Universe

The gauntlet has been thrown by Carolyn and even weighed in on by X. So I guess I gotta write something down...

But about what?

About what it's like to leave your life behind for five days of sun and palm trees with 8 other women? About what it's like to sit beach side with manatees and sting rays at your heels (who probably want to eat you)? About the sound of boozy golf cart races at sundown or synchronized swimming after midnight or the gulping slurp of watermelon when the day dares to show up? It's been told before so would any of these details make my story more real or more meaningful?

Doubt it.

But here's what I can add: there is a reason that Mother Nature is female, that ships are referred to as "she," and that the ancient Greeks and Pagans worshipped everything womanly. With all due respect to my bros, I have been to the top of the mountain (of empty light beer cans) and I have seen why women are the secret muscle of the world.

Do you know what it's like to move 9 women to one place for a very long weekend when there are hard-working husbands and 20+ children and 30+ sporting events and 20+ professional obligations and countless other details to deal with? And then throw in planes, cabs and boats, plus the pre-acquisition of all food and refreshments to the mix? I'll tell you what's it like: it's mind-boggingly EASY.

Division of labor? Check.

Negotiation of supplies? Check.

Operational maneuvers? Check.

Accounting? Check.

Entertainment and Educational Material (ie: US, People, Star)? Check.

Care-taking? Check.

Housekeeping? Check.

Fun and camaraderie? You shitting me? We were born with it.

For five short days, nine women can not only strand themselves on an island in the Gulf, but they can beat back even the threat of oil, can unplug toilets with pool water, can rescue widowed herons and errant turtles, and can pretty much crush the anti-depressant industry and the whole "women hate women" myth with the simple act art of non-stop brilliant laughter. And it wasn't (just) the wine or the beer or the cake or the shrimp or the sun that made it happen. It was because of that luscious chromosome that makes the hips wide and the boobs bloom and the heart and brain react and act so completely and beautifully GIRL.

There were no leaders and no followers. There was no one undone by having to do too much or too little, by having said too much or not enough, by tummy trouble or chubby thighs. There might have been a lot of inappropriate peeing, but there was never anything close to a pissing match. You lug my beach chair, I'll lug yours. Simple, easy, egalitarian, feminine.

A bunch of middle-aged women all alone on an island reminds me why the Lord of the Flies continues to resonate: boys all alone on an island? Yikes. I don't think there's a decent female version out there, but I know for sure that when it is written, it will look and sound and end much better than the original and the conch will be replaced with a funny looking coconut (fully made-up with markers) and there ain't gonna be any "lord," allegorical or otherwise.

Proof? This is what goddesses of the (bar)flies Florida skies looks like

and it's a beautiful freaking thing.