Miss Pissy Pants Irene

I once wrote a story about a young lady on Ocracroke Island, part of the Outer Banks of North Carolina. It was a beautiful story... one particular part I remember writing about was a 20 something in a white cotton gown serving drinks to her husband and his college buddies before she went to sleep for the night.  The cottage was on Ocracroke Island.  The woman owned a bookstore there with her husband and were hosting his college buddies for the weekend. Her husband dearly loved her and the buddies winked at him as he told them that he had to "tuck her in for the night." I painted a classic romantic picture of love for the husband and love for the island and love for books.  Have I ever been there? no. So does it even make sense for me to be a little upset tonight? No. Do I even have that story saved anywhere by my little brain? No.  BUT I feel a tug in my heart tonight knowing that this force of mother nature could tear the island up - and even though I have never been there and will never know what it was before, my heart is saddened and my fingers are crossed that Miss Pissy Pants Irene will not even touch Ocracroke or the Outer Banks.