How Great Thou Part

I’m excited to move into my new building, the fresh start and all.

Even more excited to leave the ugly ‘Di-drama’ behind me.

My sister shares my excitement.


“This is SO great,” she says. “Now you can move forward with your life and fly under the radar.”

This would be my sister who says I could have my own reality show. You see she is extremely private and I, well, I lay it all out there as any respectable writer does.

“Yes,” I say. “No more drama!”

After all, the divorce is finalized and this is MY new peaceful world!

It’s moving day and I jump on the elevator of my brand new building.

What could happen??!!

The elevator stops and I wait for the doors to open. And I wait and I wait. I grab my cell and call the building’s office. I am assured the doors will be opening momentarily.

My cell phone rings.

“It seems the elevator is stuck between floors,” they say.

“Are you saying I’m stuck on an elevator?” I respond in a slightly high fevered pitch. “I don’t want to be stuck on an elevator! That’s everyone’s worst fear!”

“Don’t worry,” they say. “We’ve called the Fire Department.”

“Fire Department??!! You have to call the Fire Department to get me out??!!” I say. “This can’t be good.”

I hang up the phone and call my sister.

“Bad news,” I say. “I may not be flying under the radar.”


“The Fire Department is coming to rescue me from an elevator,” I say. 

Laughter implodes from my sister who happens to be married to a fireman.

Of course, I can’t stop laughing either.

It seems getting stuck in an elevator isn’t one of MY worst fears. Good to know!  Though it certainly looks scary in the movies.

“Cup is half full – sometime in the near future, the doors are going to open to some great looking fireman. Maybe I will meet my next husband,” I say. “Ugh, my hair is done but I’m not wearing makeup. It is move-in day! I’m less than presentable.”

“Oh, no!” she says. “That’s like being in an accident without clean undies.”

We laugh even harder.

Sometime later the doors are pried open by one of the firemen who urges me to grab my stuff and move quickly.

Seems those doors are heavy to pry open.

I walk up to thank the other firemen who are working diligently to open the lower doors.

As the four of them swing around I have an epiphany and leave to call my sister.

“Good news, bad news,” I say. “The good news is they were every bit the signature great looking firemen.”

“Yay,” she says.

“Not so fast,” I say. “The bad news is they were babies.”

We both bust out laughing.

Seems I got stuck in an elevator twenty years too late.

Or should have divorced twenty years earlier.


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