Our low-rise apartment building has no elevator, which is fine of course except when you get a notice two days before the event that the stairs will be painted and that nobody is to use them from 8:00 am to 6:00 pm.
How about painting one half first, the other later?
No, the Board of Directors wants them painted all at once.
Where is Tarzan when you need him?
Since Phil has not quite mastered the art of levitation and is not agile enough to climb over our lanai railing and jump to the ground, he made arrangements with our first floor neighbor Jason to stay at his apartment, so Phil can come and go to keep his various appointments. Thank you, Jason!
We owe Jason so many dinners now, it's not funny. I told him we'll take him out to any restaurant he fancies, but no, he insists on only homemade dinners, even after I tell him that it's a lousy idea (and perhaps a dangerous one) and that I have a sign in the kitchen that says JUST SAY NO TO COOKING. Still, he won't relent.
I should make him oatmeal.
Organic, of course.
I don't have anything scheduled other than my writing today, so I'm staying holed up inside until 6:00 pm when I have to meet with my Hussies Writing Group. Pardon me, our full name is The Shameless Hussies Writing Group. This elite group is made up of writers like AA (stands for Alice Anne, not Alcoholics Anonymous), Victoria, Susan, Sabra and yours truly. We grew up during the years of sex, drugs and Rock 'n Roll. What can I say? Read our memoirs when they get published (if they get published).
Oops, my phone's ringing. It's Phil. He's back in Jason's apartment and he's hungry. What? Jason didn't prepare lunch for him? Just beer in the fridge? Okay, I'll fix something for you, Phil. Here it is:
Delivering Phil's lunch, wrapped in a bag, and dropped down at the end of a scarf.
Who needs stairs?