Whenever I am in a stairwell and I hear anyone else enter said stairwell, I automatically assume I’m about to be murdered. Unfortunately I also believe in taking the stairs whenever possible to work out the ol’ gluteus maximus. So, as usual, I just ran up 3 flights of stairs like an idiot, in a skirt, at work. Oh, and I’m pretty sure my potential attacker turned out to be the super nice maintenance man. Dang it. But, it could have been tiny Grandma Pearl for all I knew, and I still would have ran like my life depended on it (well, my glutes depended on it, anyhow).
I know I can’t be the only one with this (ir)rational fear. Of course, I blame Law and Order. My active imagination may also have something to do with it. At least the stairs at work aren’t the kind with openings beneath each step that lead to the abyss below, just waiting for someone to grab your ankles.
Quick. Someone say something not terrifying.
Oh, I know. Here is our cat. Falling asleep. In a pan. Because that’s totally normal. And hygienic.