So, Storm 1.27, we spend all this time with you, follow you from your infancy, nurture you into existence, watch you come of age down there on the coast, and then when your big day is supposed to happen, this is how you treat us? This is how you play us?
We're not angry with you, young man. We're just very disappointed.
So, now what do we do, Mr. Storm 1.27? Should we just wait around for your malnourished little Alberta Clipper friend who might grace us with his wimpy presence over the weekend? No thanks, we'll pass. Because we thought you were the one, Storm 1.27. You had the juice, the swagger, the pizazz. But you're dead to us now.
Rumor has it your cousin 2.5 could be coming around next week. Oh, I think we'll like him alright, but let's hope he's planning on arriving here a day early. In the meantime--just in case--we'll get the guest room ready.