Locked Out

Last Sunday started out like any other Sunday in suburbia... at Home Depot.

It was a nice morning, that began with chocolate chip pancakes, went on to tractor rides, and ended with a bang when we found ourselves locked out of our house.


If you ask me why we got locked out, I would say it was just a miscommunication, and accidents happen.

If you ask Husband why we got locked out... he would say it was my fault... plain and simple.

Apparently, I am supposed to announce when I am locking the door.

Long story short, I locked the house (making us being locked out my fault, in case you forgot) and didn't realize that Husband had grabbed the spare key (just a single solitary key) and not the house keys.

A miscommunication... right?

Anyway... we called around and held our breath that someone had a key to our house.

No luck.

So then we waited an hour for a locksmith to show up.

Let me tell you about this locksmith.

I am almost positive that he was actually a priest that just moonlights as a locksmith.... a fucking terrible one at that.

"Our Father who art locked out of his house... I probably can not get you in."

This dude was so calm, and so quiet, and so SLOW to unlock the FUCKING DOOR....

It gets better.

While Father Locksmith was taking his sweet time trying to unlock our house... which is like Fort Knox thanks to my anxiety (also my fault)... the kids were in the car, tearing shit up.


Actually, when Father Worst-Locksmith-EVER arrived, our windshield wipers and hazard lights were going, and the horn was just about to commit suicide because Lovebug had bashed it in 100 times in thirty seconds.

Lovebug was all: Let me push this, and turn that...

It was precious... until he found the window controls and the windows were up, they were down, they were up, they were down.....

An hour in the car with a three year old and a one year old when it is 22 degrees outside.. is just not fun.

Turn the heat on, right?? Wrong. 

Do you know what those hooligans did?

They took that single, solitary car key, and dropped it INSIDE the driver's seat.. like in the under bits that no human hand is skinny enough to reach into.

It's pretty much gone forever.

So now... we have no house key, and no car key... which equals no heat and no driving the maniacs around to kill time while the priest prays to the front door.

That priest (who was actually a locksmith, if you're keeping up)... man oh man he was on my list.

That dude could not open the door... I swear he was using a Subway card and a paper clip... he was the worst.

I waited as long as I could before getting bitchy.

I tried... really, I did.

But after an hour and a half in the car, the kids were no longer entertained by the steering wheel.

Girlfriend had already eaten every single non-edible thing that she could find, and Lovebug had already pushed every button and pulled every knob.

I knew someone was going to start crying soon... I kinda thought it would be me... but the kids beat me to it.

I have no clue why they started fighting... but when I couldn't control them anymore I got out of the car... walked within ear shot of the priest and Husband, (who was watching the priest not open our house) and said:

"Send him home. I'm going to break a window... watch the kids."

Husband's jaw dropped... he couldn't believe I had been so blunt and rude in front of the priest.

I was surprised too... mostly because I didn't say swear.

Lucky for me, the priest apparently worked better under pressure, and popped that lock open like a soda can the minute I was done letting the wrath of Beyonce lose from my soul.

A pretty penny later, and I was rubbing my hands all over our house like... I've missed you walls... I've missed you dirty floors...

Lesson learned: when I am going to lock the door... announce it... or forever hold my peace. Amen.

1 comment :

  1. This was the best thing I've ever read!! I bahhha'ed out loud on the real. Um- why is it always OUR fault when we get locked out of the house?! William is the same damn way. Never fails. And it's usually, probably, always, no really- for sure is his fault.


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