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There is no challenge that duct tape can’t overcome in the right hands. My husband has such hands.

There is a pesky, Parkie peculiarity pertaining to stairs. Specifically–walking down them.

When I look down, I see the step as if I’m wearing reading glasses and looking at a distant object. The challenge is heightened when the stairway is light and monochrome.  Often — especially when I’m tired – my perspective is uneven and wonky. Steps are both closer and farther than they appear.

On the Parkie perk side, I’m a great judge of whether or not the rise and run of a stairway complies with the building code.  It’s odd, like much of this idiosyncratic disease. I descend slowly, cautiously, while gripping the handrail.

We have an all-white, spiral staircase in our home. Awkward. Like sticking a student driver in rush hour traffic. What had been a design indulgence was now a constant threat and reminder of my malady.

Until last week.

“Rip.”

“Snap.”

Sound bounces between the stone steps and the walls. I walk over to find the source. It is my beloved, on his hands and knees, carefully affixing the duct tape to the edge of each step.

“Does it help?”

The electric tape on the edge of each step makes my focus easier to direct, my footing surer, my descent slightly quicker.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Diamonds may be some girls’ best friends. And please, don’t misunderstand I love sparkling, shiny objects. But I’ll take duct tape and my husband’s hands over rocks any day.

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