Look here, Mother Nature: We like constants. We like patterns and concrete dates. We like things that we can count on, where there isn’t a lot of room for surprises or guesswork.
We thought you did, too.
See, that’s why we have “Hurricane Season.” Maybe we weren’t clear about this, but that’s the season when you are ALLOWED to send hurricanes. Or tropical storms or even sub-tropical storms like last week’s Alberto.
We don’t mean to get all legal on you, but we think it should be noted that Alberto came before June 1, which officially opens “Hurricane Season” (as stipulated in the agreement you signed and had notarized.)
We have this Hurricane Season because we need a little time off from the storms each year. You know, to not only get things ready, but also because we get kind of tired and burned out, man. I mean, we need a break! To be able to go to the beach and just kind of bum around the house. We like to chill! We can’t be worrying all the time about whether our roof is going to blow off. Because here’s a little secret: OF COURSE OUR ROOF IS GOING TO BLOW OFF!!! It’s held on by these tiny little screws!
Our doctor said hurricane season is the reason we’re getting heartburn, and that our blood pressure is off the charts. (No, it has nothing to do with eating bacon. Stop trying to blame everything on bacon!)
So, we have Hurricane Season. And Hurricane Season is SUPPOSED to start on June 1. And that is supposed to mean you don’t go sling shotting big things with gusty winds and a bulldozer full of water until after that date.
Before June 1: Not good.
After June 1: Well, we would still like you to think of that as a “soft opening.” August is kind of the “real” opening. (We’re chronic procrastinators and won’t even check to see if the family of squirrels is nesting in the emergency generator again until August.)
Think of it as going to a party. Do you show up at the exact time on the invite? Of course not! That’s a social faux pas. “Faux pas” is French for “only jerkfaces do that.”
This is why we were so disappointed with the whole Alberto thing. It caught us Floridians guard. We were having a picnic in the backyard and you dropped a big bowling ball in the potato salad.
What’s up with that?!?
Listen, we get you’re going to throw us some curveballs. Out of the blue, you can still launch golf ball-sized chunks of ice at us while we’re carrying groceries to the car. You can still whip winds into such a fury that they’ll tear a house right off the foundation. We’re not taking issue with that.
We just ask that you abide to certain mutually-agreed upon constants, like no major weather until the duly posted time. (And even then, please respect the “soft-opening.” We still have to get that family of squirrels out of the generator.)