Yesterday, Hubs headed out to cover a house fire. When he got out of the truck with all of his camera equipment, he somehow managed to lock and close the door.
With the truck still running.
Clearly, I’m not the only person in our home who has issues with keys.
These recent events have brought to mind one of my most hilarious memories — the night my friend Amy locked herself out of our house while babysitting our then-1-year-old Tootie.
Hubs and I had gone out for a quick and much-needed adults-only dinner. When we pulled up to the house, two bedraggled and drenched figures stood on our front porch. Rain was coming down in sheets. Even so, I could still see that the garage door was raised by, oh … maybe a foot or so.
Intruders! my brain screamed. Break-in!
But why would burglars linger on the porch?
As we leaped from the car, I realized that the two sodden people were Amy and another one of my girlfriends, Jo.
Sheepishly, Amy explained the events of that night:
Having locked herself out of the house, she called Jo. (Luckily, she had her cell phone with her when she stepped outside.) Jo raced over. Then, in the midst of a downpour, my friends managed to force the garage door open just a wee bit and tried to slither underneath it.
When that failed, they ran back to the porch. Amy was dialing my number when we pulled up.
Tootie, of course, had slumbered blissfully through it all.
Now Amy is expecting her first little one, and I’m so, so hoping to babysit!
Which, given my own recent bad luck with keys, means I’d probably better get two sets from Amy.