Naked Tornado Drill

Once upon a time in the early ’90s I caught a “love” piece on a morning talk show. Two young women who’d penned a book were describing signs that a relationship was in trouble. They advised men that when their girlfriends no longer come to bed in the nude, things aren’t looking good. I almost certainly scoffed at the information. For some reason, though, I still remember the tidbit.

In the late ’90s I was living in Germantown, Tennessee. That’s where rich and wannabe-rich Memphians tend to live. (I was neither but that’s another series of posts.) It’s also where lots of tornadoes of the deadly variety seem to touch down. I lived there between ‘93 and ‘99 and in that time tornadoes killed people in Germantown on at least two occasions.

One night in the Spring of ‘98 the tornado sirens woke me from a sound sleep. Germantown’s tornado history and the fact that my room had several large windows inspired me to climb from bed and seek shelter in the hall. I remember feeling a flash of concern for my girlfriend and our tiny basset hound puppy.

I found the puppy in my girlfriend’s lap. She was seated on the floor in the hall, riding the storm out, such as it was. I remember being mildly amused that she’d chosen to save the puppy, but hadn’t bothered to wake me. A smarter man might have suspected, then and there, that something was wrong with “us”. She was even wearing a cotton nightie. I didn’t get it though, until some months later when she summarily ejected me and the by then hefty hound from her life. Live and learn.