In Which I Dare Hurricane Irene to Bring it On, and She Does

I've been without power for a week tomorrow, and it's all my fault. Not because my name is Irene, but because I taunted her. I have a generator, so unlike many of my friends, I can take a hot shower and watch Serena Williams plow through the US Open like the force of nature she is, but I don't know how much longer these machines are going to obey.


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So I'm going to apologize.

I'm sorry, okay? Hurricane Irene? I'm sorry I called you a bitch on FaceBook. I'm sorry I dared you to bring it on. And I'm sorry I wrote you off when your status was reduced. You are mighty. I am not worthy. Alle alle oxen free.

Let's see if that works.

The Mister has been in abstentia for all this nonsense. Since August 4, he's been on the Island of Alderney, then England, visiting, fishing, tooling around. So when I overfilled the generator with oil, then panicked when plumes of white smoke filled the whole outdoors, it was all on me. I managed to put the right kind of gas in the lawn mower, but was pretty pitiful moving the fallen tree from across the driveway. Then the AC went out (I hear it's going to be a scorcher this weekend), and this morning, more white smoke, but from some pipes outside that lead into the basement. Maybe the water heater?

Somebody on FaceBook just asked me not to call Katia a bitch. Don't worry. I've learned my lesson.

She does have a stupid name, though.

Kidding, Katia, I'm kidding! Sheesh. These hurricanes. Sensitive.

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