It would seem we have a cyclone barreling in our direction this weekend.
After panicking about Dorian last year and having it turn out to be nothing (for Florida, anyway – it definitely was not nothing for our neighbors in the Bahamas), I am finding it difficult to summon the ability to care about this one. We have a pantry full of food we don’t want to eat from the quarantine, because it was all that was on sale. I have a freezer full of game that we could roast on the grill, which will probably happen long before we hit the processed nonsense. I’ve already weaned myself off of toilet paper.
One of my friends sent me a text asking if we wanted to do a playdate this weekend, after their family gets back from a wedding.
“Um, I think there might be a hurricane then,” I said.
“Hurricane schmurricane,” she replied, along with some dinner recommendations and the meme of the guy head-banging in torrential rain with an American flag.
So welcome to Florida. Where it’s simply that time of year again.