Seriously, just don't go to grocery stores the Sunday before Thanksgiving. It's an ugly sight. Rows and rows of SUVs in parking limbo outside while their owners do something that has a lot in common with scurrying, without the 'movement' part and with lots more 'blocking the cereal aisle and access to all the milk because Hubby Dearest doesn't know whether Wifey Dearest wanted 2% or 1% or whole milk and what the hell is acidophilus, anyway?'

You could practically hear the screams of anguished housewives: "WHERE IS THE CONDENSED MILK! I MUST HAVE CONDENSED MILK OR MY THANKSGIVING IS RUINED!"

It's like Kabuki theatre, but with yams.

After we filled our hand-carried basket of items for the next few days, we realized that we only needed a few more items, so we split up. "You go get the chicken. I'll get the cereal and I'll meet you over in the produce aisle." A few minutes and a bag of Brussels sprouts later (Why are you looking at me like that? we LIKE Brussels sprouts!) we were both desirous of a speedy exit.

As we were walking away, I said, "You know what would be awesome? Grocery store terrorism. Go over by the frozen foods and yell, 'Oh my God, they're out of turkey!'"

Jeff paused for a moment and shook his head. "No, there's a better way. Don't yell that. Yell 'Oh my God, there are only two turkeys left!' Then watch the stampede."

I nodded to myself as we passed the cheese counter. "I knew I married you for a reason."

All of HSV is at Wal-Mart. You'd think nobody here had ever heard of a tornado before! Hint: toilet paper WILL NOT SAVE YOU.

A few minutes later, a reply from Suzan:

No, but it will cover your ass!

If we had battenable things, we'd batten until we were blue in the face. Chicken Little is currently running through my neighborhood, squawking madly about the gathering clouds in the sky. The Arsenal's sending people home early and all the schools closed by 1 p.m., so the kiddies are out playing in the neighborhood and pulling Chicken Little's tail while loving the unseasonably warm weather and everybody's just having a grand old time…

…and to the west, the clouds have called up all their friends and some long-lost relatives and have decided it's time to come to Alabama for one of those old-school throwdowns. They'll supply the hail; we'll supply the targets.

Will we get hit with the 'Oh God Oh God We're All Going To Die' storms that the NOAA's Storm Prediction Center (bonus points for those of you who grew up in tornado country, because you all just muttered "based out of Norman, Oklahoma") says are coming our way? No way to tell. We'll do what any good tornado-averse citizens will do: we'll listen to the weather radio, keep an eye on the radar, and if it gets ucky* we'll grab some necessities and head over to Wesley & Mary's.

They have a basement, after all.

I wonder if Chicken Little is tasty with barbecue sauce. Seriously, he's scaring the populace, and all I wanted was to buy my usual groceries today. I'm buying bananas and portobello mushrooms, people, do you really think I'm doing anything today but my usual grocery shopping? I thought not. Now quit pretending like that can of soup is the most important purchase ever; if you were really trying to do disaster preparedness you'd be buying bottled water and updating your first aid kit.

Not to be flippant or anything, but you guys know my usual statement. If I die, I'll call.

* A technical term.