So once again, I put pen to page (er, fingers to keyboard) to make you people feel better about your own lives.
I'm going to preface this humiliation with this: I'm sleep deprived.
Nolan's been in the hospital for a few days, and in an effort to be part of the Good Wife Club (and because I love him and all that) I've been spending quite a bit of time with him in his room. Yesterday, though, my adorable sixteen year-old decided that I could have a night off, and that he'd stay with his dad. The younger was spending the night with his grandpa, and my ducks were in a row. So I attended a super short rehearsal (where I did no one any good, I'm sure), went home, showered off the hospital goo, put on some jammies, locked up the house tighter than a drum (safety first!) and CRASHED.
I was awakened just a bit before 5 a.m. by Ruby, our indomitable black lab, whose personality will not be defined by normal canine parameters, LICKING MY FACE enthusiastically.
Dog spit. Before dawn, people.
Anyway, with no one else in the house, I couldn't pawn off the care and feeding of the dog on anyone else. I needed to act quickly, since she hadn't been out all night. TIme was of the essence. I didn't even put on my glasses or a robe before I let her out and put some food in her bowl. Ruby is beyond happy in the morning, dancing ahead of me in circles, leaping enthusiastically while I stumbled behind her, out into the garage.
The task done, I went to re-enter the house, now doing a little happy dance of my own, and discovered that I'd mistakenly hit the little door lock button on the door. The door to get back into the house - the only conceivable door that might be unlocked, since I was so safety conscious the evening before. And no one else was home, since I'd farmed everyone else out to other places. I had locked myself out of the house, before 5 a.m., in teeny tiny jammies, no corrective lenses, crazy I-went-to-bed-with-a-wet-head hair, with dog spit on my face.
First of all, I couldn't see. When I say I can't see without my glasses, I mean it. There are vague shapes, but unless I'm less than 10 inches from an object, I have only a guess as to what it might be.
And going to the neighbor's house to use their phone was OUT. I'm not nearly close enough to any of my neighbors to allow them to view that particular eveing wear outfit. Too much skin was on display. Transparency is fine in my bedroom, but it's not okay for doctor who lives next door.
I methodically went through both of the vehicles in the garage to see if there was a key in either Nolan's or my car. No luck.
I tried to force it with my Hulk-like brute strength. Bruce Banner's job is safe.
I considered breaking a window. Then considered Nolan having kittens.
I frustratedly banged my head against the wall. It hurt.
Meanwhile, I still hadn't yet used the little girl's room, and the situation was DIRE.
This is the part, dear reader, that I'm just simply not proud of. But needs must. Suffice it to say, that my personal streak of using only indoor bathrooms was broken. I shared Ruby's restroom, this morning, and it was NOT OKAY. NOT AT ALL.
So, now blind, spitty, quasi-pornographic, crazy-haired and humiliated, I started to panic. I needed to get in, get dressed and get up to the hospital. My husband was going to have surgery, and I was trapped in the garage. I panicked. I went into Nolan's tool box, got a pair of his Channel Locks (Slipwrench?) and twisted that doorknob counter-clockwise for all I was worth. I twisted, and then I twisted some more.
And it worked.
It worked without breaking the lock mechanism.
It wasn't so great on the doorknob. Yeah, the doorknob looks like Iron Man squeezed the crap out of it.
But this brings me to two very important points. One, that oh, my word, those little button locks are less than worthless. If I can break into the house with a pair of electrician's pliers, anyone can (Praise Jesus for alarms and deadbolts). And two, I need the name of someone to replace that doorknob before Nolan is discharged from the hospital, becasue, I really, really do not want to have that conversation.
Of course after telling this story to my friend Bethany, she pointed out that I could have gone through the pull-down attic access to get in through the second floor, without any destruction of property. She's considerably smarter than I am. Prettier and more talented, too. And probably has never locked herself out of the house and had to pee out in nature.
Ah, well. You live and learn. And then you do what you have to do.
Bottom line is, Nolan lost a gall bladder and a doorknob today, and I'm glad that the irreplaceable one is A-Okay.