Welcome Back

It's  the night before the Super Bowl and the beach is packed. Women in their silicon best, backless tops, test tube shots  and peroxide hair. Men: tanned, muscular and 1: 3 with a Brees jersey on. (That's B-R-E-E-S, not B-R-E-E-Z-E as this unenthusiastic football fan once believed.) It's chilly for Ft. Lauderdale but buckets of Bud Light and fish bowls are keeping toned bodies warm. 

My cousin introduces me to his friend. After hearing I was from Ohio, he asks, "Are you married? With, like, 12 kids?"

I don't miss a beat, "Yes. Married. 12 kids." I would describe my look as "don't talk to me" rather than matronly but he's razzing Ohio. I get it.

My cousin chimes in, "That's the way everyone thinks of Ohio here. Married with a ton of kids." 

"Don't forget the cornfield!" I say to prove that I'm not totally offended. Ohio isn't the most exotic state; we like hiking and suburus and hunting. Celebrities don't (usually) use Ohio as their playground. We don't have beaches, unless you count the shores of Lake Erie or the fecal waters of Strouds Run. Our big attractions are Cedar Point, The Rock N' Roll Hall of Fame and the Serpent Mound. Ha.

Two weeks later, I'm thinking of these attractions as I'm waiting to board my plane back to Ohio. How can I make the most of a short trip home? I prepare my mental to-do list. I'm ready to leave Florida...but ehhhhh.....going back to Ohio. Cold. Dreary. Predictable. Ohio.

Right then, two dogs approach the boarding gate . My eyes have to adjust, as they are unaccustomed  to seeing anything beyond Buckeye sweaters and Mom jeans in the this area. Dogs. Humongous dogs. On the other end of the leash I see an older woman with blond hair and...wait...is that...Jack Hanna? 

Jack Hanna. Renowned wildlife expert. On my plane. AND he is hot! How old is he? He's a silver fox! Who knew from those Lettermen interviews? Our eyes connected there for a minute. Is that his wife? That's got to be his assistant with his dogs. He glanced at me. He totally wants me! I wonder if I'm sitting by him on the plane! Maybe I could say something like, "Your dogs are soooo cute! Can I have a photo with them?" and he would say something like, "How about a photo of us instead? Why don't you move a little closer?"

I curse first class as I pass him on my way to the back. His dogs are at his and his (fingers crossed!) assistant's  feet.  I look at my ticket. My seat is 38F. F indeed! I have to rethink my plan. Should I go up to use the restroom and accidentally fall into his lap because of "turbulence"?  I can still see his Crocodile Dundee hat from where I'm sitting. Swoon. Maybe Ohio is more exotic than I thought.

Maybe. There's man in front of me with a salt and pepper mullet. More like a helmet. He rubbernecks to look at yours truly. My eyebrows raise as if to say, "Can I help you?" He whips back around and I continue scheming on how to become Mrs. Jack Hanna.

I go through different Jack Hanna scenarios. He waits for me at the gate with his dogs and snakes and parrots and a koala. We share a little joke, "Is that a snake in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" Har har. We meet at baggage. He's intrigued by my backpack and offers me a ride.  He teaches me about different species of monkeys. I become his assistant. He asks me to accompany him to Africa for a special project. Soul Mates. Age difference? Shppssaaa. Love knows not. I'd tell people at our wedding, "Jack changed my life and changed my outlook of Ohio."

We touch down in snow-covered Columbus where Jack scurries off the plane taking his monster dogs and my hopes of a zoo wedding with him. Accepting defeat, I wait patiently as people file off. I'm chatting with the couple next to me when cobweb tattoo guy looks back from the aisle, winks at me, and smiles. I guess he had fantasies of his own. 

And while I give him (and his mullet) a blank stare, all I can think is, "Welcome back. Welcome back. Welcome back."