I seriously doubt anybody ventured much past Zellwood on 441 this weekend, but I spent a lovely Memorial Day drifting Mt. Dora with my family–even though I was, in fact, with my family.

I’m going to be blunt about this: what is WITH the old people in Mt. Dora? As a young woman, I tend to notice what other people my age are wearing/ doing/ renting for apartments, and in Mt. Dora I noticed…there weren’t any. Not even working in the stores. They weren’t walking around town, either. The scene was like “Cocoon” in reverse. Happily, I was hit on by no one over 55 and all the shop owners thought I was adorable (in a “Have a cookie, honey,” sort of way).

I had fun aimlessly wandering behind my aunt, a Northerner of the very best kind (spends loads of money, and then leaves). As a destitute freelancer who is terrible with money, I rarely get to see cash dropped in that kind of volume. Mt. Dora is fantastic for women who like lots of small, fussy non-essentials that will overdraw their bank account.

You should’ve seen my aunt. Exotic platters with giraffes painted on them…fourteen pounds of turquoise jewelry…some kind of fluffy, lace-covered thing called a “tea cozy”…lots and lots of bags that said “Swarovski” on them. THE WOMAN WENT IN THE DOG BAKERY AND SHE OWNS CATS. Nothing was sacred, I tell you! I was breathless at her elbow, watching her Visa get swiped over and over again. I have one credit card that collects dust–and yet, bizarrely, there’s a balance on it. She has three and she can pay them all. I wonder what that’s like? Crap, I dream about paying the one I’ve got!

I did buy something. I bought a big silver ring with a dragonfly on it. It cost $25. I am such a freakin’ amateur.

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