Locked Out of the House

I locked myself out of my house at 5:15 one morning, wearing only my gown, no drawers, and house shoes. I had gone out to toss a bag of trash into the truck bed; it was trash day. I locked the door and pulled it shut behind me, automatically, as I did every morning when I left the house. It took me a few minutes, duh, to figure out why the front door would not open. Fortunately, I had left my kitchen window open the night before; I could climb in.

The kitchen window is ten feet above ground; I had to wait until almost daylight, to find my ladder, in order to climb in. I had a microwave oven sitting on a buffet table, in front of the window, that I had to remove, through the window, to make room to fall into the house. Do you have any idea how hard it is to unplug a microwave oven from inside a house, while standing on a ladder, outside of the house, with the actual microwave oven in your arms?

I did not get into the house until almost 7 o'clock and was very, very, cold.  I was shaking so badly that I put mascara in my hairline when trying to hit my eyes. You should have seen my lip liner; it connected to one eyebrow, which was drawn a tad too close to an earlobe. 

I arrived at work, over an hour late, and my feet were still frozen. Fifteen minutes after arriving, I took my coffee cup to the lunch room and filled it.  Why does a spilled cup, of anything, seems to be more like a gallon, or two, when it spills on a counter, your feet, and the floor?  I should have just stayed home. I was afraid to go to lunch, so, I didn’t. The rest of the day was not perfect; just the usual dumb stuff I get myself into. I could have done without sticking a boob in the ink pad, though.

I learned several things from this 'locked out' experience. Did you know that the trash people pick up a dumpster, to empty it, even though it is already empty?  I watched them when they came by; right before I figured out that my eight foot ladder was not quite tall enough to wrestle with mini blinds, which are tools of Satan. I also learned that I need a fake rock for a house key and somewhere to stash a flashlight so that I can tell a fake rock from a real one. My orange extension cord could reach the microwave, which is still sitting in the backyard, and, finally, I really do need to, or, at least try to, start wearing underwear.

The neighbors thought there was a full moon hanging over Songbird Lane.
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