Analysis of an Earthquake

I am the only one in the house who felt it.

I was sitting calmly at my desk in the living room, happily uploading my best friend JJ's picture of her newest son so I can brag about him, the kids were romping around playing, and suddenly...it seemed like I had a herd of elephants doing a ten-second imitation of Michael Flatley.  Only...not as coordinated.  My chair shuddered.  Heck, it felt like the whole house shuddered.

Which, really, is not a good thing when one has a rock-wall foundation.

And one's husband is not at home.

And one is afraid to go down the basement steps alone.

The kids were blissfully clueless, having romped right through it all on their own.

I honestly checked the back of my desk chair--it's upholstered--to see if I had fighting cats hanging onto the back, and I'd somehow missed it.

Then I smelled something funny, like melting plastic.  Dishwasher!  I jumped up and opened it up to find that the handle piece for my rotary cheese grater had jumped down to the bottom, from the top rack, and was cozied up to the lower heating element.  Well, that solved the smelly mystery.

Dad, rather than responding to the MMS text picture of JJ's new son, Batman Baby, wrote, "Whoa...did we just have an earthquake?"

And that's when it started popping up all over Facebook.

Of course, it's not until just now that I realize I can blame the 5.9 quake in Mineral, VA, for my melted grater handle.

Hubby's cell service became uncharacteristically spotty, which didn't help my freak-out nerves, which were already in full-fledged, lights flashing and sirens whooping, alarm mode.  I had to call him four times before I actually got through to him, out on the golf course where he and Da Boss are having their weekly mobile staff meeting.

"So, do you have to take a stroke penalty if the earthquake moves your ball?" I asked, by way of greeting.

"What?" he says.

They didn't feel it.

Goobers.

At least the kids weren't upset by it.