Local Observation / THE TROPIC OF SWANK

By Christina Oxenberg

A dinner party in Swankville, mid-Florida and I’m wearing a jacket. A lady guest asks me, probably supposing from my jacket that I’m from ‘Up North’ and I don’t know the local way to dress. She fails to note the jacket is sky blue heavy cotton, lined and tailored, exactly tropical cold weather wear. All the other ladies are in dresses and lightweight flimsy warm weather clothing. They are versions of glamor, they outdo a Monet dominating one wall. ‘Isn’t the weather divine?’ Says the lady guest to me as she caresses her bare toned arm. I replied, ‘I am from Key West. I am freezing here. I don’t know how you northerners manage.’ Luckily she laughed.

I knew if my hostess and I went anywhere we’d run into somebody. Why is it you never see who you want. Or rather why is it always who you have the least interest in running into. Plus, you can barely put the name together with that massive amount of traumatic surgery to the face. You can only detect the person’s identity from the sound of their voice. That you can remember. That they cannot alter. Or haven’t thought to, yet.

Hostess wanted to wander around a market where many people were tethered to dogs. I was careful to never let my hostess overhear my spats but I picked fights the entire walk . The big dogs had chains around their necks with spikes that angled like shark’s teeth for maximum damage and I accosted owner after owner and attacked with, ‘Why do you use this?’ And each in turn replied, ‘Because it works!’ And I said, ‘Well then get a dog that’s small enough for you to control without using this torture device on an animal.’ I got loud, ‘I should report you for animal abuse.’ Each one remonstrated with, ’It’s fine!’ And I said, ‘Put it around your own neck and let’s find out how fine it is.’ I was in their faces. I was truly angry. Even though I understood I accomplished nothing. And thank heavens my hostess was none the wiser.

Home now. I’m warmer.