My plan to get prepared for the elevator to shut down has been foiled. On the regular inspection on Friday the old, tired elevator was declared unsafe, and so it was shut down and locked. It isn't surprising really, since the elevator is older than God. Older than Zeus. Older than the Titans, even. So basically, I've spent the last three days climbing stairs.
It isn't a terribly big deal, but going up the stairs laden with shopping has already grown a bit tiresome. Thank god my husband makes a terrific beast of burden. Still, the plans are still in play for us not to have a working elevator until the end of September, so I suspect it will grow even more tiresome indeed. Though in the end, I'd rather have a heart attack climbing six flights of stairs than plunging to my death from the sixth floor. At least with a heart attack I might have a fighting chance of living, whereas falling to the ground with the force of gravity in a tiny wooden box would pretty much leave me a tangled mess of people goo.
Besides, I'm looking at the bright side. Maybe I'll be able to climb my way to perkier buttocks.
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