The enigma of no tits at the Ritz

The Mermaids Return now swims with ambient music of indie film composer Conrad Praetzel. Suggestions for music poured in, but we heard the dolphin chatter and hints of gamelon in the deep blue and knew we were home.

Florida, surprisingly, aims to subvert decadent public displays by mermaids. (Guess they're easier to control than those pesky voting machines.) I have been told by a representative of the state arts commission that there is a no nipple law, that this series of magical mythical creatures are considered (deleteriously) to be nudes. I refuse to add the accoutrement of clamshell bras (ouch) or strategically placed locks (read that however you want), as suggested by an apologetic buyer for the Ritz Carlton, which has a "no breasts" rule. There we stood in the spa, where most, if not all, of the clientele either had breasts or had obviously purchased a pair (ahem, God doesn't start them at the throat) and the buyer said to me in the hushed voice of someone sharing secret wisdom, "You know, most of our clientele is from the midwest."

Just when you think you know about your own country, like thinking your vote counts or that your government representatives actually represent you, there's a moment of enlightenment. "Oh, I grew up in New England, I didn't know that midwesterners don't have breasts!" I blurted out. No wonder the current series is called Enigmatic Paradise.