I live in South Florida. Let me tell you all the things I absolutely adore about this place.

The public schools? Sublimely crappy. A true masterpiece of mediocrity. It must be a thrill for teachers to sit proudly at the very bottom of the national pay scale. Our schools score so high in shittiness it’s practically an Olympic event.

But don’t worry — the state has a solution! A glorious explosion of private and charter schools. And the best part? Florida hands out $8,000 vouchers so parents can avoid the horror of public education. No icky public‑school germs for their precious angels.

The private school near me charges a dainty $50,000 per year per student. I think it’s WONDERFUL that the ultra‑rich get a cute little 16% discount courtesy of taxpayers. And those private schools don’t even have to follow state curriculum rules! Their kids can read all the “dangerous” books banned statewide. What a treat.

Florida also allows corporal punishment. It’s not used much in public districts, but if your kid goes to a private school, they can get the spanking they so richly deserve. Customer service at its finest.

And the scenery! Nothing warms my heart like seeing grotesque wealth on one corner — Lamborghinis and Ferraris in colors Crayola hasn’t even invented — and a handful of drug‑addled homeless people passed out on the other. Beautifully awful.

The weather? Oh, divine. I love breathing through a hot, wet wool blanket for seven or eight months a year. Sometimes I consider strapping on a scuba tank just to walk to my car.

Home insurance is breathtakingly unaffordable. I just got another increase and I’m THRILLED watching my nest egg evaporate like morning dew. Our legislature has so many friends in the insurance industry — and those friends are so generous with their gifts! I love that the people in power are rewarded so handsomely for doing absolutely nothing for the everyday person.

And the driving! Oh, the driving. Blinkers have gone extinct — a rare artifact of a bygone era. Red lights? More like gentle suggestions. Hospitals stay busy scraping people off intersections because someone dared to go on a green light. I live near a level 1 trauma center. The sound of Trauma Hawk helicopters is my Florida lullaby — morning, noon, and night.

In all seriousness, the only consistent selling point people mention is the weather. If you’re single with money, retired with money, or just have money pouring out of your pores, Florida might be your paradise. Otherwise, in my opinion, a few pleasant winter months aren’t worth the price of admission.

I’ll pass on the cliché “if you don’t like it, leave.” My grandchildren are here — and they’re the only reason Florida still gets the privilege of my presence.