I hate revolving doors.
I have this unsubstantiated fear of the door catching my heel as I push through and around.  I’m not entirely sure of what I think will happen next: pulled down to my doom?  Crushed underneath revolving metal and glass?  Permanently trapped in a little pie wedge of horror?  Who knows.

But look, twice last week I was witness to two barely avoided accidents involving said doors.
The J Ladies and I were heading back to the office early last week, after enjoying a fabulous lunch.  As we approached the building, we witnessed a woman literally tailgating this guy up to the revolving doors.   He went through.  To my horror–literal horror–she tried to follow into his pie wedge.
Let’s break for a moment.  If you’re going to sidle up into my pie wedge, you kind of deserves what happens.  Those doors are fast.  Those doors are heavy.  You can wait for the next wedge to cycle around because, you know, that’s what they’re made to do.  It’s going to take two seconds.
She was millimeters away from having her face ripped off.  I swear.  She stopped in her tracks and WHOOSH; the door revolved around in her face.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, one of my buds nearly had a nipple pulled off when he squeezed into his pie wedge.  He was just sliiiightly too slow and literally got a nipple caught in the door. 
Nipple caught in the door.  If that doesn’t put the fear of God in your bosom, I don’t know what will.
In his after action report, he relayed the information that the door nearly popped his nipple off.  Pulled that sucker straight out from his chest. 
No words.  No.  Words.
Luckily he was relatively unscathed, other than the emotional scarring I’m sure, and just had a big black mark on his shirt for the rest of the day from the rubbery…whatever that stuff is that helps the door revolve smoothly.  I will tell you what, I have said all along that revolving doors are instruments of doom.  I can’t stand going through them alone, let alone going through with a group of people waiting their turn.  And now the knowledge that people are almost getting their nipples popped off?  Mother of God.
That’s just the kind of week this has been.  A nipple popping off from a dude’s body, 30th birthday kind of week.  Happily, the week has been celebrated with delicious cake.  That helps mend of the wounds of getting old.  Maybe not the wound of a detached nipple, but hey, there’s another good reason to wear padded bras.
And Victoria’s Secret wins again.