|Oh yeah. She’s coming.|
Well, that was insanely anticlimactic. Come on, Irene! You call that a storm?
But I know myself, and the moment I heard that Hurricane Irene was heading straight for my fair city, I prepared. I’m from the country originally, where rain and snow and power outages happen all the time and the idea of evacuation would be scoffed at. Just get some canned soup and candles and chill out, we’d say at home. So, yeah, I got my candles lined up, my flashlights ready to go, some Spaghetti-Os and bread, just in case. But I wasn’t too impressed by the predictions of widespread devastation: we’ve heard it all before here in NYC and it never happens. But if they were gonna be pansies and shut down the power, I knew how to be sure the storm would be the climax they were talking about:
I put new batteries in all my sex toys, charged the rechargable ones, and had a fantastic night watching the rain and providing the storm with some very devastating climaxes. Irene likes it that way.
The morning after, I feel great, and the city is fine. Win-win!