COMING ATTRACTION
Warning, warning. Hurricane Ronald is gaining strength. It may hit Miami, go north to Georgia by Saturday! Be Ready! Stock up! One can't escape weather reports every hour and all day and night on Channel 56.
The meteorologists have all gone nuts from listening to each other. Overhead the normal sky blue remains cloudless. The ocean is calm. Surfers whine they can't surf.
The meteorologists have all gone nuts from listening to each other. Overhead the normal sky blue remains cloudless. The ocean is calm. Surfers whine they can't surf.
A few scaredy cats are buying portable stoves, Sterno by the carton, all arranged smack in the shopper's face when he/she enters the store.
Maybe they will be needed for some other hurricane but Ronald is a fizz-out. I do feel a tinge of sadness for all the store managers who may lose a bundle for the chain owners. Then I look in the mirror, see a nerd, and my compassion flies out the window. Our wait lasts over a week and passes uneventfully. Hurricane Ronald is simply not coming–but a new hurricane is beginning to form off the coast of Africa, so far it has no name and since it must remain a boy's name, I christen it 'Schmuck.' The weather channel goes to sleep and I head to the beach. My little kit has lots of sun screen with all the PF's anybody should need and I am hoping a 'somebody' comes along. I'm slothered, slippery, attracting gnats but don't want to go in the warmish water and waste all of my lotions and balms.
Maybe they will be needed for some other hurricane but Ronald is a fizz-out. I do feel a tinge of sadness for all the store managers who may lose a bundle for the chain owners. Then I look in the mirror, see a nerd, and my compassion flies out the window. Our wait lasts over a week and passes uneventfully. Hurricane Ronald is simply not coming–but a new hurricane is beginning to form off the coast of Africa, so far it has no name and since it must remain a boy's name, I christen it 'Schmuck.' The weather channel goes to sleep and I head to the beach. My little kit has lots of sun screen with all the PF's anybody should need and I am hoping a 'somebody' comes along. I'm slothered, slippery, attracting gnats but don't want to go in the warmish water and waste all of my lotions and balms.
Finally, I have to talk to myself. 'Get off your keester, prowl around.' I hear myself and actually walk languidly along the water's edge, noticing the little sand crabs. After ten minutes going north, I turn south and walk twenty minutes with Holly beside me. She has a large red, white and blue beach towel spread out and a firmly set sunbrella standing at a slight angle in the dry sand. She also has a covered basket that gives off a wonderful aroma that must be fried chicken. My twitching nose hints to her that I would love a piece of chicken. When Holly lifted the lid, I blurted out, 'I'd love a breast, please.' I got it, along with a dirty look. Something was already stirring in my mind. I felt it was in hers too. Right on the button! 'Let's go to my place,' Holly suggests. 'It's not too far. Will you return the sunbrella to the stand over there while I clean up, shake out the towel? ' I don't have to be asked twice. We walk back to my towel and sunscreen but either I was lost or they were stolen. With my car in plain view, the key in my bathing suit pocket, I simply had to accept my losses and think about my gain.
Holly and I have been 'a thing' for two weeks. Unfortunately, or fortunately, the meteorologists have found some new smart men. Not only is hurricane Stanley coming soon, palm trees are already lying in the streets, traffic lights are out, Holly's apartment house has no AC or electricity, but she has me and I have her and the hell with the super markets.
This shall pass, MAYBE!
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