Hansel is great in a crisis. He moved all the garden furniture into the shed and futility room, weighed down the trash cans with bricks and tied them together, and made sure the flamingo and figurehead from the front of the Blarney abode will be safe in the storm. He has found three working flashlights, filled the radios with batteries, and charged up everything that can be charged. The first aid kit is at the ready and the rubbing alcohol is to hand. We have filled pans with water and are braced for Hurricane Irene.
The rain has started and the sky is gunmetal gray. It is hot and sultry outside and definitely breezy.
An emergency has been declared in Anne Arundel county and surge map supplied from the state capital shows much of Itchy Ankle underwater. Oh dear.
We did an emergency run for bologna this morning, and for a fresh tank of propane for the grill.
“I’m not sure they’ll have it” I said ” In DC all the bottles of water, batteries and loaves of bread are already sold out”
“People don’t panic the same way in Itchy Ankle” said Hansel ” I went the to the store yesterday and people were buying 48 packs of beer and big bottles of wine. They are getting ready for a party here”
He is right. There was a line at Itchy Ankle Market as people stocked up on liquor and cigarettes to celebrate the second natural disaster in a week, but there was still plenty of gas and ice and no shortage of double aas.
The Hottie has decided to ride out the storm in bed. She’ll be fine as long as the power doesn’t go out, denying her the pleasure of a daylong marathon with Basketball Wives.
For my part, I have managed to leave my phone in DC, so if you need me skype me at blarneycrone–if I don’t answer, you’ll know we’re sitting in the dark eating bologna sandwiches, listening to drunken singing from across the neighborhood.