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Tuesday, August 30, 2011

All mighty Irene... say what?

This past weekend we had the visit from dear old Irene.
Nope, she’s not the neighbour, rather a mean, old, scary looking hurricane with a weak name that was threatening the East coast cities in the US with lots of water and high speed winds.
Every time we turned the TV prior to Irene’s forecasted arrival, we were welcomed with mind-boggling data about our death sentence; since no one could possibly survive a category 1 hurricane in New York city (can you read the irony between the lines?).
My husband, and several million of other people in the world, who are native of the Caribbean islands can testify the little commotion that a category 1 hurricane causes in Dominican Republic, where their standard hurricane visits are from above category 4.
I’m sure they would be playing domino in the backyard while Irene blows some refreshing wind on their faces and spits some rain on them.
North Americans are exaggerated in this matter and they cannot be realistic over national disasters.
Their DNA it’s messed up on all subject pertaining calamities.
A red light goes out on their heads once they hear: National + Disaster in the same sentence and automatically starts a chain reaction where news become sensational and seasoned for the avid disaster driven American.
Nonetheless, there’s always a good excuse to do nothing and enjoy the weekend watching TV (not the news channel) in a coma-like state.
I spent two days stomach-up on the sofa, reading a book (to my husband’s annoyment, since he says I have ‘selective hearing’ while I'm reading) and getting up only when I was hungry enough to justify the effort of cooking something.

What can I say?
National disasters make me lazy.

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