Around the Island

February, the loooongest, shortest month


There’s something about February. 


For some reason, at least to me, this shortest month just drags on and on and on and on for what feels like forever. Valentine’s Day, smack dab in the middle with all its hearts and flowers, makes it bearable for only one day, maybe two if there are Godivas involved. 


February has never been my good month and it’s when I’m most apt to ask, after standing with crossed arms and tight lips while I listen to some stupid, overly long, extremely boring joke, “Is that supposed to be funny?”


And, speaking of rhetorical questions, someone did a survey once, and discovered that in February more people mutter rhetorical questions than in any other month. Questions such as the one above and “What’s that supposed to mean?” and “Does this make me look fat?” and “Is a person ever too old to get a tattoo?” 


Think about it for a minute — have you ever done in February what you didn’t regret in March? (Rhetorical question.)


February is the reason we don’t keep a gun in our house. 


I’d like to tell you that February in Key West is different than February on Shelter Island but I’d be lying. Oh, sure, the weather here is not the same; storm chaser Jim Cantori isn’t warning us to brace for snow storms “of epic proportion,” but it’s not all hearts and flowers either, because we do spend an “epic” amount of time running from the shade of one palm tree to another to avoid the sun, and that’s not so easy when you’re wearing flip-flops and carrying a mojito. 


February is February, no matter the weather, and I was reminded of that this week after I witnessed a nasty exchange between two people in an express checkout line at the Winn-Dixie and it was déjà vu because I’d seen a similar encounter in an East End grocery store one February back in the days before hell froze over and I became a snowbird. 


On that occasion, I was standing in the express line, minding my own business and fighting boredom by scratching words into my dry, flaky skin. I had one item, a large bag of coffee. Coffee has always been my favorite February food group. 


While I waited my turn I counted the items in the carts of the people who had beat me to the express line. The woman directly in front had three items, and the woman in front of her, nine. Then it happened. The woman with nine items reached up to the magazine rack and added The Enquirer, The Globe and a pack of Dentine to her purchases, bringing her total to 12. 


The “10 items or less” sign is as big as a refrigerator, lit up like a lighthouse and the woman who broke the express-line law was standing right under it. 


I could feel the veins in my neck start to bulge. I would have said, “Hey you, no cheating!” but in February, it takes me longer to put together complex sentences. The woman ahead of me was quick, though, and her veins bulged more than mine did. In a voice that could be heard from salami to fresh produce, she said, “I wonder if some people never learned how to count?” (Rhetorical question!)


There was a hush, like the kind of hush that happened right after Clint said, “Go ahead, make my day.” Then, the express-line law-breaker turned around and said, “Who are you, the express line police?” (Rhetorical question!)


I’m convinced that the women would have engaged in a little game of slap-face if it wasn’t for the cashier who leaned toward them and whispered, “Ladies! Can’t we all just get along?” (!) but she said it in that hissy “February” Clint Eastwood kind of way that made both the “ladies” take a big step back. 


At that same moment, there was more “express line rage” going on behind me. A man and a woman were arguing about who was next in line. He claimed that she had cut ahead of him and she claimed that he wasn’t actually in line, he was beside the line and the bickering went on until they ran out of rhetorical questions or the month finally ended, whichever came first.


So here we are, slogging through another February together except that you’re in Shelter Island and I’m in Key West. You don’t think February’s any better down here, do you? (Rhetorical question.)