Stairs Are Harder Than College

       Today marks the first day of classes for me out at BYU-Idaho. I've learned many things, one of which being that the stairs on campus are harder than the classes.
     
       True to my nature, I encountered many difficulties with the stairs. Three times. I fell three times. Not only that, but I fell those three times during the less than 5 hours I had spent on campus.

        While walking into the Smith building , I was adjusting my watch as I approached the first of many vertical pathways to purgatory. As I casually sauntered up the stairs, I fell. Note that I was not walking down the stairs, but up them. Hey, it happens to even the best of us sometimes. Not only that, but my watch went flying and my coat flipped up over my head. I'd like to say I was inventing the newest dance craze called the "fall and flip", but no. I was just born with two left feet and no balance. Tender mercy: my watch did not break. Bad news: my dignity was left somewhere in that stairwell. 

        Later on, I was walking up another flight of stairs in the Smith building. This time, I decided to hold to the hand rail. In my mind, I was singing "hold to the rod, the iron rodddddd". I should have held a little bit tighter because, oops, I did it again. (yes, I did just reference B-Spears. you now know everything you will ever need to know about my childhood.) Tender mercy: I didn't let go of the hand rail, and I still have my watch. Bad news: I kicked some poor young man in the ankle. As if I wasn't perpetually single before....

     You'd think by now I would just use a darned elevator, but no; I like a challenge. I was in the MC walking up what I consider to be the busiest staircase on campus - it leads to the food mecca known as "The Crossroads" and blessed be its name. I was meeting my friend Paul (shout out. I know you read this. You texted me about it. Speaking of, I have a good joke for you.) and his good friend Josef (you probably don't read this, but you should. It explains why I am how I am.) As I walked up the stairs, I held fast to the handrail this time, but not even that was enough. I fell. Not only did I fall, I slid on my stomach down two steps and lost both of my shoes in the process. I also inadvertently made a sound not unlike a raptor in slow motion. Once again, completely, wholly, and perpetually single. At least I have cats. 
   
    As you can expect, I was soon swarmed by girls smothering me with "oh my gosh!" "are you okay?" "are you not wearing any shoes?" I was, silly girl, but they were stuck between my shins and the stair at that point. They're actually pretty cute shoes, too, but that is besides the point. Actually, I recant that statement. Good shoes are never beside the point. 

     As I stood up and attempted to garner what pride I had left, some smart mouth young man saw my wrist cast and thought it would be funny to say "well, I bet I know how you did that." Really? Do you? Please, enlighten me. It's not like I lived through cracking my radius completely through. Inform me, wise stranger, about my own life, because I'd sure love to have your insight. 

     But I couldn't bring myself to be sassy, so I shrugged my shoulders, smiled, and put my shoes back on. But if I could have, I would have pushed that mega turd down the stairs and yelled "HOW'S IT FEEL, SON?" But I can tell you from plenty of experience that it does not feel good.

     Tender mercy: neither Paul, nor Josef saw, so I could have kept it a secret and maintained what good thoughts they had of me. Bad news: I told them anyways.

  I tell you these things not so you can judge me and laugh, but so you can learn from them. Here is my lesson of the day: take the elevator.