The concierge at my building randomly brought up that she saw my husband Carlos and I arguing in the elevator yesterday through the elevator camera. She very excitedly described a fleeting moment in my life I barely remembered as if she was watching this totally awesome reality show.

At this point, two things crossed my mind:

• Well, gosh, that’s a pretty forward thing to say to a tenant
• OMFG INSTANT FLASHBACK of every embarrassing thing I’ve ever done in this elevator in the last three years

Me: “Haha… yeah… I’m sure you see us do lots of things in there. Fight and dance and sing and whatnot..”

Concierge: “yeah dancing and whatnot…but anyway, I was TOTALLY rooting for you! Like, I was just waiting for you to smack him upside the head!”

Me: “……yeah… I totally won that one. No smacking necessary…”

Besides my complete lack of knowing how to respond in this situation, I grew increasingly red-faced on the long walk back to my apartment as I went through a long, long list of the random, inane things I do in the elevator.

• Roundhouse kick the elevator buttons Streetfighter style
• Pick my wedgie
• Make-out sesh with Carlos
• Booty dance on Carlos
• Jump as the elevator starts up to my floor
• Jump as the elevator lands on the bottom floor
• Run to each of the four corners during transit
• Make a herp derp face behind people’s back as they walk out
• Challenge Carlos to carry me like a baby during transit
• Pretend to strangle and beat my husband
• Solo dance party
• Extend my arms up to pretend to summon the elevator on the way to my apartment
• Extend my arms down to pretend to summon the elevator on the way out

You get the point. So, now, with one single comment, my private elevator fun has come to a permanent END.

No longer are these moments precious.

You’ve ruined everything sacred in life ever, lady.