Well, I've reached the magical land of tans and oranges. Note: if the former looks like the latter, you may want to take a look at your spray bottle.
It's beautiful here, all except for the heat, which has been rendered delightfully impotent by our condo's magnificent cooling system. I've been watching lightning flicker through the sky for the past several hours from the balcony/porch. We're on the 12th floor, so it's all quite breathtaking.
And yet, despite this beauty, there is one thing on my mind, one thing that edges out all others.
Why do Floridians have red turning arrows? Seriously, it doesn't make any sense. Why have an arrow at all? And yet, there it is, staring at me like some insolent practical joke, some gigantic mixed message. The arrow points in the direction I wish to go, but it is red, which signifies that I am not permitted to go in that direction.