Normally, I don’t really mind living on the 5th floor of a walkup building. My calves and ass are thankful for the extra exercise. But on days when I hit up the grocery store AND pick up my clean laundry, I long for some assistance. I’m not even talking about a cute male neighbor or a boyfriend, but just a bonafide doorman! And an elevator.

Today, I had some extra help, though. My one-of-a-kind landlord James decided he would lend me a hand - only because “he was on his way up anyway” - despite the fact that my laundry was double his body weight. It was quite the nice gesture, but I couldn’t tell how he felt about it because he couldn’t breathe by the third floor. Oops.