All day the weather morons have been saying that, "Deadly storms headed straight for Wichita. Tornadoes expected. Very damaging." So, the storm was just getting ready to unload right as I got off work. So I race 150 mph home to get my veggie garden covered (I know right, who cares if I blow away, at least the tomatoes will survive). Then, I pack up the first aid kit, flashlights, a book (Lord knows why I'd read a book during a tornado, but there's always the possibility), water and candles and head down for the closet under the stairs. As soon as I open the door, I know I'm doomed. There's freakin' bullet reloading gear, a chair, remnants of a dining room table, a Christmas tree, OH and a unrealistically large collection of deer antlers sheds all mangled together in a space the size of a disco club's bathroom stall. Shit. So I unload half that crap....and I do mean CRAP, and proceed to make a little area for Wyatt (the pup) and I to hunker down in.
After that's all ready, I decide to watch the radar. And at this point it looks pretty scary. So why go out sober...despite the diet. Yep, if I'm goin' down, it's going to be with a six pack in me. I'm glued to the weather morons for about 45 minutes, finally I determine (once again) their full of shit. I mean we got nada. Ziltch. Zip. Maybe a little crazy clouds and the amount of rain that equivalents a 2 year old's pee. Other than that, I worked my ass off to save my garden from a trickle of rain and damaged my second day of dieting for nothing. Perfect. What can you do.
Here's some pictures of the clouds (and yes, even if there was a tornado headed straight for me, someone would have to literally drag my ass inside because I'd be shooting as many pictures as possible before the destruction starts):
I'm safe. And a little tipsy. So all is good. Back to the regularly scheduled program.