elevator.

All right. Why is it that every time you-I-me-anyone steps on an elevator it automatically instigates the need to pass gas? Don't tell me this doesn't happen to you. It does. I battle it on a daily basis, which is partly why I opt for the stairs (aside from the obvious health benefits of stairs over elevator). Oh God I'm such a Pavlovian dog. It really does baffle me how much this happens and sometimes I'm almost dumb enough to let one slip. If only I were joking. Like yesterday . . . a certain duo of gentlemen and I were cruising around in the 'fancy wagon' and the backseat passenger dropped a little garbage bomb on us. Well, in response (much like the contagion of yawning after seeing a yawn), I dropped my own teenytiny stink bomb, only to have it trump my friend's. Needless to say I could only keep a straight face for about 30 seconds until getting called out. Dammit. Point being: if you feel the Pavlovian urge, just hold it in. Seriously.

During my short 22-second elevator ride down to the third floor I contemplated the pros and cons of giving in and realized that had I actually done it, only then would the elevator stop a floor or two shy of my destination and someone of "importance" would step onboard and into the fog. Nowhere to run, no one to blame, not even a creak in the wood (marble... whatever) floor. As my friend Liz always says, "you create your own awkward situations," and I wasn't about to partake. Consider this dilemma averted for another day. Although . . . I can't make any promises for tomorrow.