We were on a skinny rural road, and my husband was speeding. The reason for our haste were the twisters in the plain to our right. They were very slender, graceful tornadoes but quite fast. As I watched them cycle across the field in the grey and the rain, I realized there must be a dozen or more of them. I tensed; I was bracing for the impact because, like an advancing phalanx sent to wage battle, they were all coming toward the road with precision. I knew they were watery, wispy things; I could see straight through them. Nevertheless, despite their beauty the idea that they would soon impact the van thrilled me with fear.
We managed to reach our destination without one cyclone passing through us and dissipating like smoke. There we were at long last at a broken down vacation rental in the woods. One of its outstanding amenities was a pool turned green. I gazed on it with disgust. My man was already letting all our little ones splash around in the muck of it.
"How could you?" I asked, absolutely revolted. He shrugged, so unlike him not to care about the filth.
I looked to my right at the adjoining hot tub. It was full of frothy mud, and as I watched it began to bubble and gurgle vigorously until huge kernels of white popcorn burst out of it, into the sky, and dropped about the shady area with grace. Well, there you go, I thought. I guess this place in not all bad.
You were warned.