I’m Erin. Divorced, no kids, which means I am free to have strong opinions and a fully booked Saturday. I grew up in Tampa and I live in Clearwater now. My dad has passed. Cookie — my mom — is 85 and very much still in the game.
She is present, she has thoughts and she WILL share them.
I have an older brother. He’s a tennis pro. Married to a realtor. Her daughter went to UF, which in this family is treated like a medical condition we are managing with humor. My brother likes to joke that I am Cookie’s “other son,” because I know more about FSU sports than he does. He’s not wrong. I just won’t give him the satisfaction of saying it first.
We are a family of FSU grads. Five other family members are alumni. One UF. The teasing never dies. It just gets new material. The next generation has done FSU, UNC, NC State, the Air Force Academy, and a PhD from UC Riverside. So yes — we can trash-talk across several time zones and at least one branch of the military.
That’s me. Clearwater. Cookie. Seminoles.
And a brother who may or may not hear this — since he doesn’t do technology well — and will text me immediately.
I’m Misty. I live in St. Augustine. Married 29 years to a man who was originally an aerospace engineer and a retired federal agent, and who is retiring from the Navy Reserves in November after 26 years. When I met him he had no clue about college football. None. I fixed that. He is now not allowed to wear orange. Ever. House rule. I don’t make the rules. Wait — yes I do.
We have two adult kids, 24 and 25. Empty nest, which is how I have time to sit in a closet and talk into an iPad. My daughter also graduated from FSU. My son finished active duty with the Navy and is in the reserves now. Both of them work for the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office. Both of my parents are gone.
So that’s the short version. St. Augustine. Two grown kids in law enforcement.
A loving husband who learned football the hard way. And a very firm policy on orange.
Which brings us to how we even know each other.
Sorority sisters. Roommates. Delta Zeta. The bonds are forever — which is a nice way of saying thank God we didn’t have iPhones back then to document our good times.
We have laughed together and cried together for decades. And we still do adult Disney with the girlfriends — matching shirts, just like we did in the house, except now the shirts say something slightly too cute and our feet file a complaint by 2 p.m. We walk Epcot like it is our job and discover new drinks we will absolutely “just try,” which is how you end up rating a tequila flight next to a giant golf ball. Sometimes Misty makes us stop in the middle of the park and shoot a funny Reel. We complain, but we do it anyway. If you haven’t guessed, Misty’s in charge.
And now we are doing a podcast together.
With absolutely no idea what we are doing.
None. We are two 50-something women who looked at each other and said, “We should start a podcast,” as if that is a normal sentence and not a cry for help.
