Last Monday Dave and Marley went to the taping of American Ninja Warrior and weren’t going to be home until about 7:30 or so. I get home from work at approximately 6:20 and I was beyond-words-excited to be something I rarely am: alone in my own house.
I couldn’t wait. As I drove home I fantasized what I would do with my (approximately) one hour and ten minutes all by myself. First I would change into something more comfortable. Then I would put in my earbuds and turn on this station. I might pour myself a glass of wine, but maybe not. I didn’t really need it. And then… I would vacuum.
That’s right, you heard me. Vacuum. I’d been busy. My house was a disaster. Weekends have been crazy and during the week I make dinner as soon as I get home from work, then the three of us clean up (meaning Dave clears the table, Marley washes a pot – that’s right, just one – and you-know-who is stuck with the rest), and then I collapse on the couch and end up drooling ten minutes into whichever show we settle in to watch. You’re all jealous of my glamorous rockstar life, aren’t you?
So I know it sounds lame (hell, it is lame), but I was excited to be home alone, with a cheese-and-cracker dinner and time to clean. I wouldn’t have time to tackle the dining room table that was threatening to buckle under the weight of “that pile” (or rather those piles), but I’d stick my phone into my fanny pack, strap it on, sing along to my country music (poorly and at the top of my lungs) while vacuuming and dusting. Maybe I’d even have time to clean the stovetop. (It was pretty gross.)
Are you picturing me with a fanny pack strapped on, singing at the top of my lungs while I clean house and laughing out loud at the ridiculous image? Stop It! That’s not nice.
When I pulled into the driveway I reached into my purse and realized – oh no, no, no, no, NOOOOO! I did not have my house key.
I know, most people have their house key on the key ring with their car key. Of course they do. I do too. But my car is being worked on and I’m borrowing my mother’s car while she’s out of town and when I clip our extra key onto her key ring it hits my leg and bugs me so I just keep it separately in my purse. But I switched purses Monday morning (or rather switched purses Sunday and switched back in a hurry Monday morning – irrelevant I know, sorry) and forgot to put the key in my purse.
And so I did what any normal person would do in such a situation. I tried to break into my own house. Unfortunately there have been some break-ins in our neighborhood recently and our house is like a fortress. Sure I could break a window, but that seemed like a bad idea. (I did manage to maybe destroy a screen in my attempt to dislodge it. Shhh. Don’t tell Dave.)
I could have gone to my mother’s (I have a key to her house), but the 30 minute round trip didn’t seem worth it since I was only stranded for an hour.
I thought about which neighbor I could bug. I tried my friend Mary. I had just gifted her with some trendy vodka to thank her for a huge favor she had recently done for me and thought she might like to share, but she had the audacity not to be home. (Rude!)
I know a lot of people in my neighborhood and in my town, but who could I bug -at dinnertime- who wouldn’t mind me dropping in for an hour? I decided to reach out to Kim. (Lucky her!) She handed me a glass of wine the second I walked in the door, so you know I chose right. I totally interrupted her dinner hour, but she was gracious and her family didn’t seem to mind.
I ate chips and salsa while she made her family an easy dinner. Then we took our wine outside and talked about writing and kids and life. It made not being home alone more than okay.
When I got home Dave and Marley teased me. It’s okay. I earned it. Then Dave told me they were going back Saturday, this time to watch Team Ninja Warrior be taped. They’d be gone most of the day. Did I want to go with them? I thought about it. For about a second. Then I politely declined as visions of vacuums and fanny packs danced through my head.
Photo credit: Katerina R. via Creative Commons