It’s time to address the elephant in the room. The Republican National Convention blew in with a storm and plopped right down in my home city of Tampa, Florida this week. Roads closed and utility workers went into overtime accommodating the Republican party elite and their honored guests. Strip clubs and lap dancers reportedly doubled their fees and are raking in enough money that they may be able to afford to buy clothes before the weather turns chilly. The Huffington Post reports that Republicans spend three times as much per customer as Democrats at strip clubs during these conventions. That would concern me under different circumstances; but I know that these out-of-towners are hard-line protectors of conservative family values and they hold the utmost respect for women. I wonder if one of these great men stuffed that $3 election campaign fund contribution from my income tax into a woman’s g-string this week.
Of course, most Tampa women don’t dance naked for Republican tourists. I, for example, belong to a group of crocheters, knitters and loom weavers. We meet once a week to chat and produce items for local hospitals and nursing centers. The RNC took over our room at the library and erected tall cardboard partitions over the windows. I peeked in once without permission, planning to feign confusion or a heart attack if any goons tackled me to the ground. Thankfully, my pale skin blended right in, and no one seemed to notice me. Inside, I saw more cardboard hidey-holes. I can’t confirm this, but I suspect some mid-level Republicans are planning a secret coup from an activity room at the Hillsborough County Public Library.
At least with the spotlight on Tampa, the rest of the country may finally learn the name of our great city. It’s Tampa. Not Tampa Bay. Tampa. Yes, I’m sure.