Last night, my husband and I were discussing how we’re both getting back into our fitness regimens and going to the gym now that the kiddo is back in school. He mentioned that he’s even taking the stairs at work.
So, even though it has nothing to do with our daily workout regimens, my brain picked out the word “stairs.” Because I’m special that way. And I said, “I take the stairs at our dermatologist.”
Him: “It’s only two floors.”
Me: “I know, but the elevator is old and small and makes funny noises. It scares me.”
Him: “The elevator is fine. Besides, you’d only fall two floors if it broke.”
Me: “I’m not worried about falling, I’m worried about getting trapped.”
Him: “You just crawl out the escape hatch on the ceiling and escape through the elevator shaft. No big deal.”
Me: “Yes, because crawling up on top of an elevator and into a filthy, rodent and bug-filled, dark elevator shaft is much better than being trapped in an elevator. Now you’re trapped in a gross, scary elevator shaft! Great solution!”
Him: “Well, what would you do, then? Just give up and be trapped?”
Me: “Um… no. I’d wait for the hot firemen to come save me like any other smart woman. Duh. That’s why they invented cell phones.”
Him, after a long pause: “I really hope you get your wish, honey.”
I think my husband just told me he hopes I get stuck in an elevator, you guys. Totally not cool.
I also hope I’m wearing good make-up and a cute outfit that day.