Fire Drill

If I hadn't already decided that Emily was my favorite accomplice, I did last night.

We had just arrived home to our 25th floor dorm room after a very long day: 2 papers, 4 classes, a case study and a chest-tube drainage lab. We were about to commence with our much anticipated dinner-in-front-of-the-t.v. plans when the monthly fire drill went off.

It meant shuffling down twenty-five flights, waiting out on the sidewalk in freezing weather, and then climbing twenty-five floors back up, and I just wasn't going to do it. No sir-ee. Nope.

So while our sweet little 19 and 20 year old neighbors were grabbing their parkas and grumbling their way into the stairwell, I was convincing Emily we could hide from any suspicious R.A. in the narrow space between my bed and the wall. It required a little rearranging of laundry hampers and some cuddling, but we just fit, and with a perfect view of the television.