So by now, most of you have ascertained (by first hand experience or in the reading of da blog) that I am known to have this little theme that follows me around.
Today was no exception to this rule.
I woke up this morning (very content) and meandered downstairs to have a cup of coffee. Outside, the ground is covered in fresh white snow and as I open the door to let the dog out, I step outside into the relatively mild winter morning and inhale the fresh air with a little smile. The dog bounds around kicking up snow and gets into a riveting game of "gonna getcha" with the cat. All is well in my world. I hear a strange sound. Shhhhhhh. Frump. A rather large and very heavy chunk of snow - that must have been balancing precariously on the deck - dislodges itself and lands on my head, and in my coffee. I stand. I do not move. *Blink blink*. I reach up and gingerly remove my new hat. I frown. Then I smirk and emit what can only be described as a humour laden whimper.
I turn to go inside. The door won't open. I have locked myself outside in the snow (in my pajamas) and have NO way of getting in, since the spare key that is supposed to be outside is within view - on the kitchen counter. Another whimper - this one... not so much humour mixed in there.
I walk next door to the little old Russian ladies house and knock - she opens the door and ushers me inside. She exclaims over how nice it is to see me and plunks me down at her kitchen table and begins trying to feed me various things. It doesn't seem to occur to her that it is in anyway out of the ordinary for a neighbour to show up in her pajamas wearing a fur coat and running shoes. Instead she seems content to have company and someone to talk to about Larry King.
After a few minutes - I explain my conundrum to her and she darts for the phone before I can ask her if I can borrow her ladder. I had formulated a plan. The door on the upper deck was unlocked. I figured if I climbed up there I could just hop the railing and - tada - into the house. But she decided to call our neighbour Ben.
Ben is a gentle giant. I have only met him on one other occasion. I was strangely wearing my pajamas that time as well. (Mary came to the door one morning at 8 am and had an emergency at her house - so I followed her there to find Ben at her backdoor.) I considered explaining to him that I actually DO wear real clothes most of the time - but couldn't think of a way to say it without sounding .... if possible... any stranger than I appeared to anyways.
To assist with the mental picture - here is an idea of the fun...
Ben is kind enough to retrieve her ladder - now on board with my re-entry plan and carries it to the house. He steadies the ladder and I begin my ascent. (I am not a fan of heights - now would be a good time to mention this). Two stories up - and over the railing. My polar fleece fully bonded with any snow I have come into contact with, I now resemble a snowman. BUT - I am granted access to my house and all is well. Unfortunately, I am now the new crazy woman on the block and am sure to be a topic of conversation for years to come.
Sigh. I think I might go back to bed and hide under the covers for a spell.