"WE INTERRUPT THIS PROGRAM...."

Well, wouldn't you know it. Right when I'm ready to settle down last night for a trashy two hours of "The Bachelorette," a thunderstorm raged about 100 miles from here, and the network television stations broke in on the regular programming for a blow-by-blow account of what was going on in the sky. Humbug.

At one point, the local tornado sirens even started blaring, so Critter and I zipped down to the basement, while big Bore stayed by the TV to report that there was nothing for us to worry about. According to Super Duper Dandy Doppler Radar, the twirly stuff was 25 miles away and headed north of us.

Actually, the weathermen didn't have much exciting to report. "We have some damage to a Bradford pear tree" was about it. They finally returned to the regularly scheduled programming around 9:15-ish, at which time all hell brooke loose in our little town and our satellite dish went dead. So, it didn't make any difference if the weathermen were back on the tube screaming for us to take cover.

I decided my best course of action was to take the covers off Big Bore, by now fast asleep, and make him entertain me in order to get my mind off the lightning, thunder, and wind that were crashing outside the windows. We rode out the storm singing hits from the Mamas and the Papas and The Beatles--once again butchering the words and providing our own screeching orchestral accompaniment. We were so infernally bad that we drowned out the noises of the storm and were soon in dreamland.

From the looks of our wiped-out ornamental corn this morning, the wind outside must have been mighty fierce last night. Not as scary, however, as the two blowhards inside the house ripping out tunes.