But it’s so high
This weekend Ryan and I were working on putting up the curtains and putting away the Christmas decorations. We were on ladders a lot. Or, actually, Ryan was on ladders a lot. Every time I climbed the ladder Ryan came running from wherever he was, and all I could hear was a nervous Ryan: “oh, Kate … oh, geez … What are you doing?”
Really, I’m not a hazard on ladders. Never in my life have I fallen from a height. Well, not that I remember – I suppose if I have fallen, I must have hit my head and messed up some short term memory. When I was a kid, I used to climb up on the counters in the kitchen so I could reach the cereal bowls and glasses … and all kinds of other things. I’m an independent type. If I’m capable, I like to do things myself. So, yes, I’m shorter than Ryan is … but that’s exactly what ladders are for!
Ryan’s take is a little different:
“You’re climbing to the top rung on your tippy toes, leaning all over everywhere, and you’re going to fall and break your neck, and I’m going to have to drag your limp body to the hospital, and it’s not going to be any fun for anybody.”
Ryan has an active imagination.
I originally thought it was just because he was worried about me, or that he thought I was klutzy … until I remembered that he doesn’t like heights himself, and so he has much more respect for their power and danger than I do.
Really though, as much as I may be an independent type, there are some definite benefits here: Ryan would actually rather put up the curtains and put the boxes and suitcases back in the ceiling storage cabinet than have me do it. I’m forbidden to do work? Ok by me! Thanks Ryan!