"First things first, you go online and order yourself a LifeStraw. Out of all the things the party people shouted at you to buy, this was the one that stuck. The other thing you remember is a "crank radio," but that can't be right. Isn't that just another name for a sousaphone? You can't imagine how a sousaphone would help you in the case of a grid failure, so you just order the LifeStraw."
"You only get one, despite the fact that you have a husband. You figure that, if worst comes to worst, you'll share the straw. When it arrives in the mail, your husband asks how it works, and you shout, "WE BEND DOWN AT THE SHORE AND WE DRINK FROM THE RIVER." He walks away. That's O.K., more Hudson River water for you."
At a seemingly normal party, everyone reveals they are preparing for the apocalypse and urges readiness. The protagonist decides to start prepping and orders a LifeStraw online. The protagonist misremembers a 'crank radio' as a sousaphone and rationalizes the LifeStraw choice. Only one straw is ordered; the protagonist plans to share it. The husband reacts with bemusement and asks how the LifeStraw works. The protagonist practices biking to Canada, quickly remembering long-avoided discomfort. A Plan B of staying and fighting leads to a failed attempt to buy heavy water and enrollment in a martial-arts class where a child chokes the protagonist.
Read at The New Yorker
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