Premature
Evacuation
Wilma's
location as of Sunday morning when we left.
I'm writing this in protest of Myra forcing me to evacuate, damn it. I
had it all planned out: if the authorities came by to drag me away I'd
just go limp and flop down on the grass. The Man is not
going take me away! And right when I had myself all
hunkered down, all the doors locked and barred, did I realize I
was betrayed by the one and only person with sufficient
power! Myra the government mole. "Ooo look at me, my
name is Myra and the government says we should evacuate!"
Pfft, whatever.
And just where will we
evacuate to? Someplace stupid. We will probably drive all the way up to
Tallahassee. About 12 hours away. Twelve long, hot,
humid hours without any air conditioning in the car. I wanted to wait until the last minute for
the weather center to proclaim Wilma as a tropical
storm so we can stay, but Myra's put all this work into packing
everything so now we have to leave. Defeated by a wussy little category 2 ("Three,
they're predicting it will be a three") hurricane. Not
to mention my life is a living hell because we're out of soymilk.
That traitor mole refused to buy any more yesterday because "The
power will go out during the storm and it will be go bad."
Nya-nya-nya! What power outages? The electricity never goes off
around here. "Honey, the power in our apartment goes out even
during weak category 1 hurricanes."
Bah! Spoiled milk... I
want my soymilk damn it!
Daphne Davy (and Myra the Mole)
