First, there was the storm.
Then, there were the blackouts.
Then, there were the carbon monoxide poisonings. I’m sorry, the WHAT?
Then, still, there were the blackouts.
When are the locusts?
It was to this dystopian Al Gore weather-mare that I let Eric fly on Saturday morning. I grew up in the northeast, where every flake of snow was greeted with a hail of news stories all screaming “THE STORM OF THE CENTURY,” no matter the century we were talking about. So when I heard about the gusty wind in the Pacific Northwest, I downplayed in a most typical way. “Yeah, wind. Sounds windy.”
Oops. Last night, Eric slept under every blanket he could find in the Pacific Northwest, as his parents’ house still doesn’t have power four days after the storm. He has periodically taken trips to the car to warm up, where he has run into his dad in the process of grinding coffee beans.
I leave to go up there on Saturday. If there’s still no power, I’m bringing the cats as blankets. Warm, cuddly, adorable blankets. So get fixing, northwest utilities…I’m not sure Bumble would make it through the flight.