What's Not To Like?
I was at the Happiest Place on Earth, having a good ol' time.
I was grinning from Mouse ear to Mouse ear. Mixing and mingling. Making small talk with people from around the globe. And that's when it happened.
Why does this always happen?
We will call her Blogger A, because the Scarlet Letter she shall have.
Blogger A: So where are you from?I felt my temper rise like the Florida temperature in the dead of summer.
Blogger A (responds with the most disheartened look): I'm so sorry.
Me: Why? I love Cleveland. It's my home.
Blogger A: It's so grey and depressed. And you know what it's known for?
Me: A number one team in the MLB?
Blogger A: No.
Me: First class health care? A world renowned orchestra? The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame? Home to an Iron Chef?
Blogger A: No. A River that burns.
The mistake by the Lake. Really?
This kind, gentle woman (oh yes, that's what I'll say because the choice words I wanted to call her at that moment have since...passed) has never stepped foot in Northeast Ohio.
She's never dined on East Fourth Street. She's never felt the electricity in the Q. She's never walked along Huntington Beach and then enjoyed BayArts.
She made ignorant opinions of my hometown based on who-knows-what.
And I was angry.
She didn't want to hear why I love Cleveland. I tried explain why my husband and I chose to stay in Cleveland despite job offers in Atlanta and Chicago. I bragged about University Circle and its museums.
Yes, Clevelanders are their own worst enemies. But we don't need outsiders bringing us down too.
Blogger A was brazen. She was rude.
So before you go knockin' my hometown. Come visit first. Or at least do me a favor. Just keep your mouth shut.