Life on the third floor

Life on the third floor

Four of my six boxes arrived from the States around 9:00 Thursday morning. The door buzzed and my husband flew out of bed like he’d been stung by a wasp that had come in through one of our screen-less open windows. He ran down the 37 stairs to the first floor, signed for the boxes and paid the customs fee. At that point, I had joined him with my morning hair and ugly pajamas. Taking one box at a time, we each hauled 2 boxes back up the 37 stairs. When we were almost to the top on our second trip, my husband exclaimed, “I HATE MORNING SPORTS!”

I do believe I heard that at the next summer Olympics there will be a brand new sport called “Hauling heavy boxes up stairs.” Tee hee. Truthfully, Germans don’t have a word for “workout.” Everything is a sport whether you’re lifting weights, running, or playing football.

As we climbed back in bed to sleep for another couple hours, I groaned and said, “I hate morning sports, too!!!”


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