Yesterday ,after walking my ass off all day ,I got home and realized that the elevator was stuck on the 1st floor. I had to take my suitcase full of dry cleaning and various goods and walk up 11 effin flights of stairs.
After 3 flights I stopped and ripped the hot scarf off my neck. After 2 more flights I stopped and took my coat off. I stood there and gazed upward, thinking "Good lord ,how many more flights are there? "
I felt I would never make it to the top. I found myself counting steps ,every time I got to 8 I would start over. (I have no idea what that's about)
By the time I finally got to my door I was too out of breath to dig my key out of the suitcase, I rang the doorbell and stood there panting like a dog until my crabby husband let me in.
I had to lay on the kitchen floor for 20 minutes until I could breathe normally .
Note to self : getting old sucks errrr...must get ground floor apartment..
