FLORIDA FREEZE ALERT!

Last Sunday the local NBC news anchor here in south Florida warned residents that “immobilized iguanas could fall out of trees due to the unusually cold temperatures across the region.” Apparently, when the thermometer drops below 40 degrees, iguanas go into “a suspended animation and plummet to the ground.”

Think about that.

I sure did the morning our Vero Beach thermometer read 35 degrees. I was trying to convince Mr. Wonderful that a brisk walk in the equally brisk air would be good for what ails us. “With iguanas falling down from the palm trees?” he gasped. (Maybe we bring an umbrella, I suggested.)

I’m not looking for sympathy but …since we arrived in the Sunshine State three weeks ago, the mercury has not inched much above 70. That gives us snowbirds seeking nothing cooler than a Pina Colada the screaming meemies. But even the natives are restless.

I walked the beach three days ago and met only one other person — a guy wearing a black balaclava that covered his entire face except for the eyes, plus a thick down jacket, sweatpants and Bernie mittens. He waved hello and said, “Sure glad I’m down here in Florida and not up north.” Really?

We have been dressing in layers. I’m getting a little sick of my pink tee shirt that I top with a lime green sweatshirt before zipping up my Vineyard Vines padded vest. But my winter woolies are up north.

I have yet to get even the HINT of a tan line. When I went to lunch recently with the girls, you couldn’t tell where my white FS/NY flats ended and my blue-white feet began. And fuhgeddabout my ankles.

Mr. Wonderful is down to “10 cents a wearing” of his black watch plaid LLBean flannel PJ bottoms. They were a last-minute throw-in-the-suitcase item and they now dominate his wardrobe. He pairs them with a green North Face fleece jacket but still announces several times an hour, “It’s friggin’ freezin.’”

Florida Power & Light has been issuing warnings: “Do not use your oven as a heat source!  Set your thermostat at 68 degrees for greatest efficiency!.” (Mr. W. prefers 74 to “efficiency” and I’m worried about stressing the huffing-and-puffing furnace that looks a little puny compared to the big mothers we have in Maine.)

Another thing we’ve discovered:  the minute the temperature sinks below 50, tee times are cancelled. Pickle ball games are scratched. No one goes near the tennis courts. Every lounge at the spacious neighborhood pool is available. 

Dogwalkers swathed in puffer coats, scarves and gloves pass by with just a nod, forgoing their usual chitchat. People haul their basil plants and orchids inside. And barbecue outside on the patio? “Not in that weather,” a neighbor said.

Before you know it “that weather” is going to become temperate. Sunny days are ahead. Soon we’ll be grousing about the humidity and sticky heat. But until then, I’m keeping my eyes upward every time I leave the house. No frozen iguana is gonna bop me on the head.