And I Thought I Was Just Being A Wimp

At 3:30 this morning my windows blew open. And when I say "blew" I mean "exploded." The curtain rods in my living and bed room were blown from the wall, and in the kitchen my drying rack, stuffed with plates, got pushed off the counter and crashed onto the floor. Certain I was being robbed, I elevated three or four feet above my bed and stared out the gaping, whistling hole in my bedroom wall with the glassy eyes of pure, dead fear.

I managed to get the living room and kitchen windows shut, but the *&*#$ bedroom refused to close. I was very nearly sucked out into the street. Seriously. It was like footage from the Weather Channel or what I imagine would happen if someone opened the hatch on a transatlantic flight. Fed up and numb with fear, I wedged it shut with a shoe and retreated to my living room. I wrapped myself in my duvet and spent the rest of the night sleeping on the floor by the fireplace, dreaming I was out at sea.

I reflected on my wretched night during the walk to work this morning. I worried if I told anyone that they would probably call me a wuss. Or worse, a silly American (what, you can't take a little wind?). I felt pretty wussy at the time; especially with the screaming; so I decided to keep quiet.

Well, turns out I wasn't the only one who had a little trouble.

The winds were so strong they had set the alarm off at work, and almost everyone was late getting in due to power cuts and transport delays. Want to bring a country to its knees? Wind terrorism. I'm calling it now.