Oh hay, did I forget to tell you? There was an earthquake here in Seattle. Look at me, so west coast, forgetting to tell you about an earthquake.
Last summer I was at my parents house and there was a tornado warning in the area around their house. We had to go sit in the basement and listen to the radio and hope to heck that we wouldn’t be swept away to Oz. And it was SO NORMAL to me. We did this on a regular basis when I was growing up, and hearing those tornado warning sirens, eerie and loud in the still, tornado-colored air (I swear there is a specific color of gray that befalls the surroundings when a tornado is on its way in Michigan) and the tornado smell. Didn’t phase me at all, really. I mean, it’s scary, but I’m used to that fear. If that makes any sense.
Since I have moved to Seattle, I have been in various earthquakes, and although I have never panicked or anything during one (I’m too lazy to panic), they have freaked my freak somewhat. Even the little ones. I was never one of those people that didn’t notice an earthquake (you crazy Californians). If the ground is shaking, even in a not-violent way, you bet your sweet hiney I NOTICE.
But Friday morning? When Nordic Boy and I were being shaken awake at 5:30 in the morning? Not only were we not scared, we didn’t even think it was an earthquake. Our windows were rattling in their frames, our roof was shaking. Rather than an earthquake, we jumped to our own individual conclusions reflecting our respective WORST NIGHTMARES.
Me: Oh my god. There’s someone rattling our window! (ie a murderous killer who is going to break in and eat our brains after sawing us to bits with a machete).
Him: Oh my god. There’s a squirrel that somehow got into my roof! (ie my well-insulated, newly built, tightly seamed roof that I love like the fruit of my loins.)
See how our fears differ? I am deathly afraid of Hannibal Lechter. Nordic Boy is deathly afraid of roof penetration.