My parents and I have a sort of agreement, an unwritten or unspoken rule. We try not to take trips at the same time so I can watch their dog while they are away and they can watch my dog while I am away.
So Brad and I were living in our apartment back then. This was pre-house. We were on the third floor of said apartment building. Third floor = top floor. It was nice being on the third floor because there was no one above you to listen to stomping around. You also had a lot of privacy since you weren't on the ground floor. You were also guaranteed a little cardio each day climbing up the darn stairs. That's one reason me, Brad, and Daisy have gained weight since moving into our house! No stairs.
Not so nice thing about being on the third floor: storms. When a thunderstorm rolled through, it was like you were up in the heavens with the storm. Insane. The wind was awful up there and the thunder was in your head. Insert tornado warning! I thought for sure I was going to die. How do you survive a tornado on the third floor? How? Most internal space in the house? Ok, I'm still on the
There were many freaky storms like that when we lived in that apartment. Many. The one that was most memorable was the one while my parents were in Vegas. There was a terrible storm complete with a tornado warning and I was in the hallway, under a mattress with the two dogs.
It's funny, I don't know if it was the fact that storms are more loud the higher up you go, or if there just hasn't been anymore like that, but since we've been in the house, I haven't been that terrified during a storm.