The Wife, Hurricane Rona and an oven.

Dear Lord in Heaven,

It's me - Scrubbie here. Lord - I don't often come 'a callin'. You know that's true. And, when I do - ya pretty much know it's a doozie that I'm askin' for. Well - it's one of those days.

The wife and Hurricane Rona - you know the one... she's the one who blows things up. Lighting strikes her house - not once but twice. Planes crash in her yard. Unexploded dynamite lies under her driveway. Ya - that one. Anyway - she and the wife are making attempts to do come Christmas baking in the 'ol Scrubbie kitchen.

And, I am frightened.

Lord - watch over this igloo and all those in it. And, if it be your will that the curse of Hurricane Rona should fall upon us - make it a time when Scrubbie's out gettin' his lottery ticket tonight.

Thanks buddy. 'Preciate it.

Your faithful servant - Scrub.

Amen.