Nope, not Chicago. Right here in Saint Petersburg, on the 29th floor, I watched as our furniture danced along the balcony. I raced out there, attempted to grab the chair on the corner and I darn near blew over the railing. I shrieked, turned on my heel and bounded back inside.
This furniture is heavy. I am heavy. We were at risk out there. Meanwhile, as the wind screams past our floor to ceiling windows my husband, the gifted sleeper that he is, snoozes blissfully. Little does he know his wife, clutching a cast aluminum swivel chair, almost blasted into the Tampa Bay.
That giant bowl weighs 512 pounds. Right now it’s filled with ballpoint pens (Jim uses them for his daily crossword) and rainwater. Pens and rainwater are swirling violently, counterclockwise. On whitecaps.
Exciting in a terrifying way.