The Wrath of Bonnie

A friend's post on Twitter today made me smile:

Preparing to be inundated with Tropical Storm Bonnie jokes. God forbid I turn into a hurricane. Watch out trailer parks!

I grew up in Orlando and hurricanes were like snow storms for the North or perhaps earthquakes for the West.  I was lucky enough to have never been affected by a devastating storm, so it just seemed normal.  They happened all the time.  And in the same way a Californian wakes up in the middle of a small earthquake, realizes what's happening and then rolls over; Floridians hear of a hurricane approaching, make sure they have extra candles and a deck of cards and then invite friends over.  And, of course, hope for school to be closed the next day.

Now unlike earthquakes or snow storms, hurricanes get named.  And in alphabetical order, mind you.  Which, you should know, is how in my house we're naming our fish(es).  We've been good pet owners lately...we're still only on Deuce.  He's a survivor.

Right...so back to hurricanes.  I remember every storm season as we got close to L, M, N, O...I was secretly hoping we'd make it to R.  We did actually...maybe every couple years.  And, man I wanted it to be Rebecca.  So much.  But in my lifetime, there has yet to be a storm with those seven letters.

I realize scary storms aren't something to joke about.  And it's ironic that my sunshine is about thunderstorms.  But I do love them.  And I'm fully jealous that my friend Bonnie has not one, not two...but according to a quick search on Google, THREE storms with her namesake.