Musings from inside a locked bathroom.

I'm going to shut the door so it gets nice and steamy in here while I shower. Good for the pores. Gotta give it a good tug, these old doors are a little - CRACK - what the?

Why am I holding a doorknob with no door attached? And…why does that door appear to be shut more tightly than I have ever seen it shut before? push…push…yep. That baby's not opening.

Well, might as well have that shower while I weigh my options. 

Hm. Home alone. With the car. Husband at work with no way to get home to rescue me, and no keys with which to rescue me anyway because he hasn't yet picked his keys up from the neighbour we left them with AT CHRISTMAS!!! And regardless, I don't have a phone in here with which to call for help. Also, no clothes. But I'll be clean. Thank goodness I just finished cleaning the bathroom and dyeing my hair, so we'll both be presentable when…who exactly am I hoping will come to the rescue?? If I yell out the window I might get a neighbour to hear me, or just as likely some creep looking to steal a bike and maybe a naked wife or two. But even then, how will they get in? 

It's settled. I'm going to be kicking down my first door today. I'm a little excited. 

I wonder how long it would actually take to be rescued if I don't make it out of here myself. I have to assume that J would spend at least until 7 or 8pm cursing me for not answering my phone before even considering that there might be a problem. My best bet would be E's school, who would probably start calling if I haven't shown up by 4:00. But when they didn't get a hold of me they would just call J, who would continue to call me unsuccessfully. I think I'm realistically looking at about 8 hours of incarceration. On the one hand - and this is where I am my mother's daughter - thank goodness I'm in a bathroom! And on the other hand - my father's daughter - I'm already hungry. 

Okay, time to bust a door down. It's too bad I don't have shoes. I bet I'm looking at a wicked heel bruise and an impressive hole in the wall where the…oh that's right, there is no doorknob to dent the wall…so that's good. Maybe I'll just take a quick look at the situation first, just so I can confirm that I know literally and absolutely nothing about locking mechanisms and the like. I don't suppose it would help to pop this inside knob back in and try to turn…click…swing! Oh. 

No cause for alarm. Nothing to see here. La dee da…I'll just go and put some clothes on now.

February: Winter's F-Word.

It has been a long winter, folks, made longer by the knowledge that everyone with whom I've ever had the pleasure of acquaintance is going on vacation. Dominican Republic, Mexico, Florida, Caribbean cruise, Texas, Jamaica…the list grows longer on a daily basis and I sink deeper and deeper into an abyss of self-pity. We were supposed to go away. We had known about it for a year. Dominican Republic. A 5-star resort. A one-week reunion trip to celebrate a tenth wedding anniversary. Nothing was going to stop me from being on the beach next week.

Now, I don't want to say that it's all my husband's fault…so why don't you go ahead and say it for me?

Thank you.

Now, there are a couple of ways I can deal with this paralyzing disappointment that I'm feeling. Some of them are more productive and less petty than others. And after much deliberation, the path I've chosen to take is to make a firm committment to myself.

Hear ye! Hear ye!

I do hereby solemnly declare that, for each of the remaining Februarys that I have on this Earth, I will go on vacation. Somewhere warm - or a the very least warm-ish - where I am not responsible for cleaning up after myself or my family, and preferably where someone will prepare my food and remove dirty dishes from my field of vision before I even have the opportunity to wonder if they should be rinsed first. Somewhere where mittens and hats are wholly unnecessary, if not altogether forbidden. Somewhere where the food and booze flow unimpeded by my neglect to go to the grocery and liquor stores, where there is simply no reason to check the time, where I don't give a hoot whether our driveway has been plowed or we remembered to put salt down. I'm going to assume that you are beginning to get the idea. Despite my daughter's birthday AND my husband's birthday, and yes, despite Valentine's day, February sucks. And in Ottawa it sucks hard. A girl needs a break from all of this.

Don't tell E, but I think I've already figured out her birthday gift for next year. A trip to a magical place where the sun shines all year and one wouldn't find the word snow in any proximity to the word shovel. A little place called Disneyland, in February.