There are those who would argue that I'm a very well-rounded person. With a variety of skills that I employ on a semi-regular basis. But there's one skill for which I possess an astounding lack of talent. That skill is the art of balancing a whole bunch of cardboard boxes up two flights of stairs to my apartment. I'm now in the panic phase of my upcoming move to graduate school. I have a week left, and yet I still have an apartment full of stuff that needs to be packed, be it for storage or transport. A friend was kind enough to donate over half a dozen cardboard boxes for this packing endeavor. When I picked them up from her house, I took a few trips back and forth from the house to the car to put them in. I did this partly because there were so many boxes. And partly because there were only four different size boxes. So stacking them inside one another was not exactly possible. Unless you're Chuck Norris.

Upon my arrival home, I was faced with a dilemma: a bunch of boxes in the car. Two flights of stairs. Not a lot of energy left. I considered leaving them in the car and getting them during the day tomorrow. But then the male hormones kicked in, and I decided Hey! I'm going to carry ALL OF THEM up to my apartment AT THE SAME TIME. Brilliant, I know.

So I pulled them out of the car and stacked them as best I could. One set of boxes was cradled in my left arm. The lone box of enormous proportions was placed precariously atop that stack, and leaned against my head. The final stack was held in my right hand, at a dangerous angle such that it threatened to fall and spill its cardboard contents at any moment.

I made it from the car to the stairs, and began the climb. One step up. A second step. And then, in slow motion, the angled box in my right spilled before my very eyes, even though I wasn't looking because I was too focused on the climb. And then the enormous box of wonder decided to detach itself from my head and go flying to my left and into the awaiting bushes below. Back to the drawing board.

I checked the boxes for signs of any unwanted life forms that may have been intercepted in the fall. They were mercifully devoid of any additional, unwanted, life forms. I repeated the initial failed attempt. And failed again. The sad part is that I was actually surprised by this. Finally, realizing that I had now used up the precious sixty seconds I had intended to save by this balancing act (in fact, I probably added a good 120 seconds to the whole business). I left a bunch of boxes on the second floor and just made an extra trip to get them all upstairs and into my apartment.

I guess I didn't miss my calling as one of those basket-balancing-on-the-head people after all. I'd probably be lynched because I wouldn't be able to supply the village with food. And all the clean laundry would just get dirty. And forget about carrying fruit. I guess I'll just have to face it. I'm no Carmen Miranda.