WINTERIZING IN FLORIDA: THE PLOT TWIST NO ONE ASKED FOR

There are certain things you expect when you move to Florida: Palm trees, sunshine, humidity that can curl your eyelashes, and the occasional alligator who wanders by like he’s checking on the neighborhood. What you don’t expect is to find yourself, at nearly 11:00 p.m., hunched over your laptop, frantically scrolling through Amazon for outdoor pipe insulation like you’re prepping for a blizzard in Minneapolis.

I have stayed in Florida for years without ever giving a single thought to “winterizing.” Winterizing is something you do in Indiana—land of frozen eyelashes, windshield scrapers, and that one neighbor who insists shorts are appropriate in 12-degree weather. Winterizing is not something you do in central Florida, where the biggest seasonal concern is whether your flip-flops will melt on the pavement.

However, Mother Nature has decided to spice things up this year. The forecast says the temperature is dropping to 26 degrees this weekend. I did not sign up for this. I come here specifically to avoid temperatures that require more than a light cardigan and a positive attitude.

And yet, here I sit, adding pipe insulation to my Amazon cart like I’m preparing for the Arctic Games.

I have three tall outdoor pipes that have lived their entire lives blissfully exposed to the elements, never once needing a sweater. Now they’re about to get wrapped up tighter than a toddler in a snowsuit. Thankfully, Amazon—my late-night enabler—has several options that can arrive tomorrow. Nothing says “modern convenience” like being able to panic-shop for emergency plumbing supplies while wearing pajamas.

Though it might be a bit of overkill, I ordered both the tape and the wrap. I’m taking no chances. Click on the images to go to the Amazon link.

Good thing I brought my winter coat with me. I thought it would spend the season hanging untouched in the closet, a relic of my Indiana past. Instead, I’ll be outside tomorrow, bundled up like the Michelin Man, lovingly wrapping my pipes as if they’re delicate houseplants that need encouragement to survive.

The irony is not lost on me. I spent decades in Indiana mastering the art of surviving sub-freezing temperatures. I know how to layer. I know how to thaw a frozen lock with a hairdryer. I know the exact sound your soul makes when you step outside and the cold hits you so hard your ancestors feel it. I just never imagined I’d need those skills in Florida.

Tomorrow, while the rest of the country laughs at Florida’s version of “cold,” I’ll be outside, coat zipped, gloves on, giving my pipes the winter protection they never knew they needed.

If this keeps up, I’m buying a snow shovel. Just in case.