How the Wrath of God Descended on Megarita,

Or, How One Can Sit Through a Tornado Warning Without Knowing It.

I dodged a bullet last night, chiefs.

I lured my friend C. out for drinks downtown, because it was a beautiful warm fall day and momma wanted a V&T. She brought her new toy poodle puppy and we dished about boys while drinking $2 V&Ts. (Yeah, they were well drinks, but it's not like we were drinking well GIN or something. Please!)

It's sprinkling a little, but we're under layered umbrellas, so we feel no need to move. Plus, the pooch requires access to nature at times. Then this siren starts wailing, and we sort of mildly gaze around, wondering what sort of effete fire truck has a siren like that. It's vaguely alarming, but it's not raining or anything and it's not threatening or fearsome in any way, so we remain. Another round? Yes, please! Chat chat chat, nosh nosh, stir ice, rinse, repeat. It began raining with some fervor later, so we tottered inside and finished up there.

I get to work this morning and see headlines of TORNADO WARNINGS ALL OVER [CITY] WEDNESDAY EVENING. That effeminate howling? An air raid siren. Our deaths? Apparently imminent. I have to say in my own defense that I was sort of listening for the notorious "train" sound made by tornadoes and watching the dog to see whether she made any nervous motions. Neither happened. Some fellow who was obviously from out of town ran out of the restaurant screaming something along the lines of "it's a twister it's a twister!" a la Johnny from Airplane, but we paid him no mind. We thought him a poor wit and a drunk rather than the honest prognosticator of our untimely demise.

But, we lived. I know now that when the wheezing sound of the demure air raid siren is heard, one should take cover rather than order seconds. Or something. Cheers!