Lately it seems our house is falling to pieces. Our kitchen faucet is starting to get a bit leaky on us. The kitchen light became possessed by a rogue demon and had to be replaced, but not before a minor casualty involving the new light, unpreparedness, and gravity. It’s like we’re being attacked around here.
This morning as I first roll out of bed I go to pee first, as all people do. I don’t truly wake up until the shower water hits me so I’m still pretty groggy as I move to open the Poo Parlor door (our potty has its own closet) and SMACK! I run right into the door before it opens. I make to open the door for real and . . . the knob doesn’t turn. Eh? Now I’m starting to wake up and I’m thinking, “I’m not THAT asleep, right? I can open the door, right? It’s not locked, I’m not an idiot; it’s not locked.”
After a few more unsuccessful tries I was really awake and apparently stuck to boot. I make enough noise to get Steven to see what the hell I’m doing. It takes us another ten minutes to get me out of there. Steven eventually had to take the door off the hinges; removing the doorknob did nothing except give us a peephole.
When Lydia woke up later in the morning — banging the hinges off surprisingly didn’t pop her right out of bed — I told her my now-funny story. She had me retell it multiple times and even went to tour the damage.
Now there’s a knobless door leaning against our bedroom wall, another item on the home improvement store list. Well, it could be worse. At least I didn’t get locked in there after releasing a huge global killer.