Time to batten down the hatches, Lowcountry. Storm season’s a-comin’.
Hurricane season officially starts Friday, and you better believe I’m ready. Bring it, Mother Nature; I’m not scared of you and your torrential downpours, your gusty winds and your threat of coastal flooding.
And your threat of forcing me to evacuate and spend 18 hours stuck on Interstate 95 with about a million of my closest friends? Ha! I laugh in the face of evacuation orders ... then I cry, meekly pack my car and hit the road.
Seriously, though: I feel like hurricane season might be the one time of year when my obsessive, Type A, “plan for the worst so you’ll be pleasantly surprised when the world doesn’t end” mentality is a good thing. Because even though I completely overreact to anything weather-related this time of year — every time it rains, I check the National Hurricane Center’s website, just in case. Stop judging me; there’s no shame in being prepared — I’m also nearly 100 percent certain I’ve got everything I need to weather the storm (see what I did there? The weather also provides endless possibilities for puns, which I very much enjoy. See? It’s all about finding the positive in a horrible, terrifying, please-don’t-wash-away-my-house situation).
So no, I’m not at all nervous about hurricane season even though it hasn’t even officially started yet and we’ve already had two named storms. Nope, not a bit — especially because I had a college roommate named Beryl, and she was B-O-R-I-N-G. There was about as much life in her as there was Tropical Storm Beryl. So if the rest of this season’s storm names are equally as nerdy, I think we’ll be OK.
And judging by the list of names on the National Hurricane Center’s website, the only name that looks at all like it could have a little kick is Rafael. If that storm is anything like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, we could be in trouble. That turtle had some attitude, which obviously makes him the vastly superior turtle, but I digress.
So when it comes to my prepping, I’m definitely not going overboard this year. Nope. I’ve got my important documents in a filing box, ready to grab and go if I have to; my insurance policy is up to date and I’ve got boards for (most of) my windows. I think it’s all under control. No way am I thinking of doing anything crazy like converting my downstairs bathroom into a full-blown hurricane shelter, complete with a vanity filled with canned goods and a toilet converted into a Brita water dispenser.
OK, maybe the toilet-as-a-drinking fountain idea is a little much. But I’m serious about the canned goods. I went to town on the canned foods aisle at Publix. And I don’t know what it is about impending natural disasters, but suddenly, if it’s in a can I’ll eat it.
If the big one hits, I could live for years on my stockpile of Spaghetti-Os alone. And no, I have no intention of sharing with my neighbor should Hurricane Whoever We’re On Now hits. Go get your own, you lazy, ill-prepared bum.
When it comes to hurricane season, I take the “Doomsday Preppers” approach. It’s every man for himself, and if you want to survive, you’re going to need canned goods, a raft and toilet paper. Lots and lots of toilet paper.
I mean, let’s be realistic: Hurricane season is the East Coast’s zombie apocalypse. And I plan on surviving.
No, not just surviving. I’ll be thriving, and feasting like a queen on all the Spaghetti-Os that Publix had to offer.