I’ll tell myself you’re laughing WITH me.

On Saturday, Matt and I spent most of the day just hanging out, waiting for the dryer repair guy. (Pencils. It was pencils, presumably from Matt’s pants pockets and presumably from mini-golf, although I guess they could have been from him playing regular golf too. They got stuck in some kind of motor, thus producing the noise that temporarily deafened me.)

We decided that after the dryer dude left, we were going to go to dinner at this little Italian place that is near our house. In fact, it is near enough that we can walk to it, thereby eliminating any need for a designated driver, and thereby ensuring that the liquor, it would be flowing nicely. In fact, we may have even enjoyed a few beverages before leaving the house…

The following is the conversation that occured after the dryer guy left (at 6:30 in the evening – what the hell was he doing to our dryer for that long??) as we were halfway down the driveway:

Matt: You locked the front door, right?

Me: Of course I locked it.

Me: Wait, you have keys, don’t you?

Matt: Nope. Don’t you have yours?

Me: No…

And so it was that we were locked out of our own house. Of course, no one had a spare key, and we hadn’t put out a hideakey because we are complete morons.

First, we tried prying open the living room and basement windows. What do you know, our windows are better than they look! Then we had the rather brilliant thought that we could just ask our neighbors if we could crawl through their attic to our attic. What a relief! What an easy solution! Except that apparently our neighbors don’t have attic access. Which – what the hell? I guess that explains why they don’t have anything up there, but I still think it’s a little strange seeing as how the rest of our houses are complete mirror opposites of each other.

We quickly realized that we were down the 3 options:

Option 1 – Break a window.

Option 2 – Call a locksmith.

Option 3 – Find someone with a ladder and attempt to climb in the (open) kitchen window.

Luckily I was able to dissuade Matt from his original plan, which involved him leaping from the balcony to the kitchen window, hanging on with one hand while ripping the screen off with the other, and then pulling himself through into the kitchen, where our happy row of cactus plants was waiting for him on the inside of the windowsill. He was sorry to hear that he was not in fact Jack Bauer, but I think it was for the best that he learn this now rather than waiting until he was dangling 15 feet in the air from a window ledge.

We determined that option 3 seemed like the best option, seeing as how it required little more than a willingness to bury our pride and talk to neighbors we had never met under circumstances of demonstrating that Hi, we are the biggest morons you’ll ever meet but pretty please can we borrow your ladder anyway?

(Oh, and have I mentioned that approximately 30 seconds after we realized our locked out-ness, the dryer dude CAME BACK because he had forgotten to give us some paperwork, and had to visibily restrain from laughing his ass off? Yes, that was lovely.)

ANYWAY, the first neighbors that we tried didn’t have a ladder. The second house had no one home, but the third time was clearly the charm as the (very nice) family answered the door and the man gladly lent us his ladder, apologized that he wasn’t able to help us more as he was expecting company and had dinner in the oven, and told us that if we ever needed anything to just let him know.

Unfortunately even though he was a very nice man, he didn’t own the world’s sturdiest ladder. So as I strained with all the power of my (newly formed) muscles (guess those work-outs really do come in handy for something) to hold the ladder steady, Matt slowly climbed to the top of the ladder, pried the screen off, removed the cacti and other pointy objects from the vicinity, and slid in the window. My hero!

Soon we had (two sets of) keys in hand (plus a spare in my purse, we were taking NO CHANCES) and were finally on our way to dinner. Of course, we both agreed as we stumbled walked home later that it could have been much worse – at least we realized the situation on the way out rather than upon our (rather drunken) return to our humble abode.

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1 Comment

Filed under Home Sweet Home, My Sweet Babboo

One response to “I’ll tell myself you’re laughing WITH me.

  1. I love the Jack Bauer plan; I would have liked it better if he had done it and you had taken pictures of him hanging on with one hand.

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