It's not that I don't appreciate a good hard-boiled propositioning. You don't spend as much time as I do trying to talk people into things without developing a soft spot for a little florid salesmanship.
And I certainly had a great time in Florida. I enjoyed lolling around on the patio, taking in Butterfly World and the Wakadoheeko wildlife preserve, chatting up the octogenarians on the walking path and inspecting gold seashell bracelets in some shops on the main drag. However, I wondered at the final salvo of Tom's mischievous mom's pitch to visit her snowbird winter place. She had heralded Delray Beach as "The New York of the South."
Our friend Guy was fully on board with the description. He and Erin moved down to the Sunshine State last year and we were lucky enough to hook up with them the second night of our trip. Guy sat back in his chair as a wizened dude in a motorized wheelchair whizzed past beachside.
"The New York of the South. Yes." he said. "That's a fact. Delray is the sixth boro. We call it the "Granny Apple."
I laughed and laughed until I got distracted when the waiter brought over another mango mojito. Not so shabby, this alternate universe Manhattan.