Late Wednesday afternoon, one of the Mules asked me if we were still planning to have our book club meeting at the cigar club, as planned. I replied, “Why wouldn’t we?”

He said, “Because of the storm.”

I said, “Oh, that. When is that supposed to hit?”

He said, “Tonight.”

I said, “Well, the cigar club is basically a cement bunker filled with booze. I’m going. So is Frank, the bartender. And Olio, the restaurant down the street, is delivering the food.”

He said, “I’ll be there.”

It was raining when the meeting began at six. And it was raining when it ended at ten. There were apparently gusts of wind here and there, but we never noticed them. When I went to bed, it had stopped raining. I woke around two in the morning and looked outside onto the beach. It was beautiful and calm.

Thursday morning, it was bright and sunny.

This is what happens 9 out of 10 times that we are alerted to an impending hurricane. That’s why it’s difficult for long-term Floridians to put much stock in weather reports, especially urgent ones. And that’s why we get a kick out of coverage like this: