The Key Master

You know how it feels when you're really ready to just be home? Not even home from a long trip or anything, but home after a regular day? Well, that was exactly how I felt last night, and then this...

So there I am, arms full with all my mail (only 1 piece of which turned out to be of any significance -- damn catalogs!), my huge purse (also dubbed "my suitcase"), and a basket of happies that my oh-so-sweet boyfriend sent me at work yesterday. I go to open my door and guess what? The damn thing was fucking LOCKED!!!

I know, I know... you would think I should always lock my doors, and really, I do. (This led me to the conclusion that I keep my house locked up tighter than Dick's hat band b/c I could not even find a window open!!!) But this door is inside my garage so, when I shut the garage door, I had left the inner door unlocked. You know, because I'm lazy like that. Better yet, this is the one day that I DO NOT have my house key on my keychain -- I had taken it off for some reason the day before & not put it back on yet b/c I never need it. Or so I thought... Anyway, I'm standing there, helplessly cursing like a sailor with scurvy, mail & papers flying in all directions, trying every key that I can find -- just in case -- and all the while my pekingese is on the other side of the door, jumping shoulder-high so he can see me through the window on the door and I can SEE my key sitting on the table inside. Frustrated? Oh, you have no idea...
Luckily, I now know from experience that credit cards do, in fact, still unlock some doors. Thank heavens, b/c I was thiiiiiis close to breaking a damn window!!! As for how it got locked in the first place, I can only assume that while Winston was jumping on the door to greet me , his paw hit the button on the knob to lock the door. I could have shot him, I swear. [although I have to remember that he was only doing it b/c he was excited to see me] Now I'm afraid to even go out on my back porch with him still inside for fear of him locking me out again!!! I can see it now: I step outside in nothing but a t-shirt & skivvies and the freaking dog locks me out. Yep, that would be my luck.

Finally... after all of that was over, I got to go inside & clean up where the little fucker had shit on my floor while I was at work... like a little cherry on top of a turd of a "welcome home". Can you say, "appropriate"?