I went to Florida, and you didn’t.

I got on a plane Saturday and left the man pictured to the left on the beaches of Florida. (I know, right? He’s cute!)

It’s cool. We planned it this way. I work and he’s retired, and his dream is to spend as much time as possible near the surf and sun during the nasty Connecticut winters. He’s earned that, so he’s there. I’m here.

The weather in Florida was emphatically better than it was here, at home in the godless northeast. Florida had a few rainy days I’m not whining, I promise, just stating fact) and spent that time walking in the rain and watching HGTV, where we quickly gravitated to the shows where long-suffering realtors walk whiny adults through what looks like lovely homes. We quickly began shouting at the television, because on a rainy day in Florida, you can do what you want.

It wasn’t all television. There was that one day, when the waves knocked the piss out of me, and then knocked off a toenail. This photo doesn’t do justice to just how nasty the human toe looks without a nail.

I also spent an afternoon — or most of one — boogie-boarding with an 8-year old named Julianna. She was visiting her grandmother, who was in a beach chair and not getting her hair wet. Cool kid, Julianna. Her grandmother was worried that she was getting on my nerves, and she took her off for a beach walk and Julianna brought me back some really pretty shells.

I also got up early one day to watch SpaceX launch a rocket from Cape Canaveral. Please enjoy the super-grainy photo at right. I’d never seen a liftoff before and though I’m not space geek, it was an impressive false sun shooting up through the clouds.

Of course, there simply wasn’t time for everything, including visiting that wingnut pastor, who is now selling fries at a Florida mall.

But I did think about it. Here’s hoping your few weeks were equally weird.