"Parrot Heads and other boomer escapists," I would reply.
Little did I know that I had chosen a readership of the best people ever.
That was driven home to me this week when I visited with the Steel City Fins in Pittsburgh, a club near my hometown where I hoped to sell a few books as a local girl and fellow Parrot Head.
I had set up the engagement some time ago, before I went off to North Caicos. The president, Evan Karelitz, had confirmed me as a speaker and sent directions, so I didn't bother him further other than sending a "looking forward to it" email the day before.
What a surprise when I arrived at the meeting place and asked the first guy I saw if he was Evan. He gave me an odd look and said, "Evan passed away."
No one else in the club knew I'd be coming, so I was a surprise to them, too. But they quickly made adjustments and added me to their schedule, placing me after the report on Evan's memorial and a song written for him and before the business meeting. "You'll be the transition after the weepy beginning," the vice president told me. (OK, not too much pressure, right?)
My "job" wasn't that difficult, though, because Parrot Heads are resilient and positive people. They blended me and my offbeat characters into their beach cocktail of grief, tribute and hope, and they made a stranger from Richmond into a part of the family for the evening.
I wanted to reach Parrot Heads as readers. What I've been given are not only readers but also friends. That bonus is better than any amount of royalties.