I’m getting ready for the hurricane.
“How?” you ask.
Before I go into that I had another epiphany. When you go to someone’s house for dinner one usually brings something, a bottle of wine or flowers.
I have decided to make a request that whoever comes to my house should give me $9. That’s probably less than the price of a bottle of wine or any decent bouquet and I’d rather have the cash. I’ll bet plenty of people feel that way but they’re ashamed to say it.
Back to the storm.
Liz called to make sure that David and I had prepared our terraces for the oncoming storm. I was forced to tell her that David didn’t take in his cushions (remember one of my middle names is “truth”).
She immediately hung up so she could call him back and yell at him. I pursed my lips and returned to what I was doing when she called, watching a replay of “The Real Housewives of Miami”.
I was just about to go onto Bravo.com to say what a shitheel Joe Francis is for telling everyone who he had sex with (ickety ick ick) when the phone rang and it was Whiney calling to say I was a tattletale.
Then he asked me to help him move stuff on his terrace which did. Nothing I like better than bossing someone around. We had cocktails and decided to go out to dinner.
In the restaurant we met Gene Bertoncini, the famous guitarist. He sat with us for awhile and I introduced him to David who was so charming that I thought he must be a pod.
That’s his real talent. He pretends to be nice so I look crazy when anyone reads what I say about him. I think that’s how the devil walks around the earth to pick up souls.
Back to what I’m planning to do during the hurricane.
Look out the window.