PP and I came home, and tried to get in. Couldn’t. Porch door lock was cranky. So, I jiggled it a little, which usually works. Nope!
The lock pieces fell out into my hand. Shock!!
Yep, something just like that!!
PP began screaming, crying,
Yep, looks just like PP in full voice!
and banging on the door like she was locked out of an ice cream store.
I tried pulling on the door. Nope, no go. Sat down on the conveniently-left-outside-the-porch chair,
(This is obviously inside. But it’s the same chair.)
and began dialing.
Sweet Friend not answering. What could you possibly be doing that is so important, you can’t answer my distress call????
Finally in desperation, after 20 minutes of wailing, and crying, and oh yeah, PP doing it too, I called XH.
He came right away, thankfully, but couldn’t get the door open either.
Why?? Cuz, duh! The lock was broke!!
So, he went thru the unlocked (Thank God) workshop. Hey! why didn’t I do that?? I dunno, a screaming toddler??? No light??? Didn’t think of it???
He had to bang on the latch to get it open. Relief! Spelled “O-P-E-N D-O-O-R”.
Later Sweet Friend asked me where the pieces of the lock were.
I threw them in the trash or recycling. I dunno.
“Why would you do that? Why didn’t you keep them?” he queried.
Oh, I dunno, an upset, screaming toddler throwing herself at door?? Because they were broken??? Because I didn’t realize there was gonna be an autopsy??
Anyway, Sweet Friend took off the latch part, so we wouldn’t get stuck again. Thank you, SF!!
Then, that weekend, he installed a spanking new lock!! What would I do without my SF??? (Besides never being able to latch my porch door ever again, I mean!)