Blame Irene. I'm sure it's her fault.

So, I guess we're having a hurricane.

Thankfully, it sounds and feels like every other storm we get out here on The Rock, which means this thing must have petered out long before it got to us.

That makes me happy. I'm oddly attached to my roof.

In keeping with what has become a long-standing tradition, we had a Hurricane Party.
I considered making the alcoholic concoction Hurricane, to commemorate the event, but when I saw the list of foods being prepared, knew alcohol wasn't going to be the focus of this particular party.
(Truth be told, it never is. We all have kids.)

There was lasagna, in a pan big enough to bathe a medium sized dog (should one desire). There was crab and asparagus risotto. Garlic bread, salmon cakes, cheesecake, nacho dip and chips...
and chocolate chip cookie dough. Shhh. That one's our little secret.

I grew a pants size.

And then I turned around and did it again today. A full Sunday Dinner with macaroni and meatballs and spareribs. And chocolate chip cookies.
Many, many chocolate chip cookies.

I'm never eating again. (I said this last night, too.)