I locked myself out of the house today.
Just me, not the baby. He was sleeping peacefully on the couch when I went to water the tomatoes. I left through the garage door to turn on the hose. The patio door, usually open to allow for fresh air, wasn't open because it's hot and I didn't want the hot air to get inside and force me to turn on the AC.
So there we were ... the baby inside, me locked out. No obvious way in.
All ended well, I'll just say that before I mention that I'd just changed out of my "leaving the house" outfit into Scott's boxers and a wife-beater tank top -- my "can't even answer the door in this outfit" outfit. I was just going to water the tomatoes! No one was going to see me!
Well, actually, there are any number of people who might have seen me as a circled the house twice, tried every door repeatedly, checked for the spare key where it should have been 16 times, and looked in the window at least 40 times to ensure the baby was not awake and wailing. I finally ran across the street in Scott's underwear, sweating like a maniac and praying that the baby didn't wake up.
My neighbor, also the mother of a newborn, didn't answer her door so I ran back across the street determined to break into my own house. Which I did. It was scary easy (thank god, but, yes, we'll be addressing that) and all was well except for a few scrapes and bruises on my legs.
Ten minutes later, my heartbeat had nearly returned to a normal pace, I'd already e-mailed Scott to inform him that the spare is not where it should be, and the baby? Still sleeping peacefully.
Whew!
2 comments:
So when will we be seeing the photos of you in Scott's underwear and the wife-beater T-shirt? And who's got a wife-beater T-shirt?
Austy
No photos. Ever.
I call those T-shirts that Scott cuts the arms off "wife-beater T-shirts." He's got a million of them. Wears them to play basketball four days a week.
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