Wilma! I Left My Keys Inside! Will You Let Me In The House! Wilma! Yo, Wilma! Shoot!

I was always perplexed while watching Flintstone reruns when Fred locked himself out of his house. He'd bang on the doors and scream for his wife, when all he had to do was jump through the window which seemed like a giant hole in his rock. Um, couldn't he just climb through?

I thought about this yesterday morning when I left the house to take Glamis hiking along the Sound. I got out front and went to open the car when I realized, "Snap! I locked my keys in the house." I stayed calm, checked the doors and slightly panicked. I thought, "Oh, the back, sliding glass door will be open." Nope. I tried windows and they were all locked. Then, the last window I checked...the one over the kitchen sink, was unlocked (but it only opened a few inches). I got it open and thought, "Fudge. This isn't a big entrance like Flintstone had."

I tried, though. And I failed.

I could get my arm in and I grabbed a spatula resting in the sink. That's when I remembered something miraculous. I put my keys by the coffee pot last night. I don't know why, but I did. I thought for a second and thought, "Hmm, I bet I can reach my arm with the spatula and pull the keys to a location where I could grab them."

I stretched, jimmied, and retrieved! Success. I got my keys.

Now, I thought, "What if I had to be outside all day? What would that have been like?" But, the good news is it didn't happen. Luck was with me (at least in the morning, because then the kitchen sink leaked everywhere exactly as it did for Cynde during Easter and my hernia surgery and, Chitunga, the first night I left for Syracuse and Minneapolis).

Ai ai ai. Adulthood.