labellementeuse | (no subject)

It has come to my attention that

sixth_light has been gravely misrepresenting me, and since we have a good deal of f-list overlap I'm just going to correct the story.

I did not lock myself out of the house; I was locked out. This is a crucial distinction, kids. Consider me on a Tuesday in the middle of winter. The sun is shining brightly outside; birds in the trees, traffic on the motorway, a mild breeze, all signs of a good washing day, especially since I don't have class on Tuesday. So I hung out a couple loads of washing, and returned to bed and laptop. At about 4 pm the sun goes behind the neighbour's flat, so happy as larry I wander out in my pj pants and tank top (sans brassiere) with the washing basket. It's still warm and I'm in a good mood, so I fold the washing as I go, meaning an otherwise three-minute chore takes maybe fifteen minutes. These are apparently a vital fifteen minutes.

Why? Because in that fifteen minutes, flatmate H came home from TCOL and found both doors unlocked and the back door and some windows open. Ten minutes later she left, locking both doors and shutting all the windows behind her. About two minutes later I come back from the washing line and find myself locked out, with no key, no cellphone and no idea when anyone else was due home. Or, rather, I knew

sixth_light wasn't due home, and

lady_larla not til after 8. H's movements are, shall we say, erratic.

Un-fucking-believable. I ended up borrowing the neighbour's phone to call

sixth_light, not getting an answer, walking over to her b/f's (about a fifteen-20 minute walk in flip-flops; luckily we live in an area with lots of students so my garb was not all that unusual) because I knew she'd get there eventually, finding THAT place all locked up, turning round and walking back (apparently if I'd waited at his place for fifteen minutes they would have got back), borrowing the neighbour's phone again, ringing

sixth_light a couple more times for good luck... you get the picture. finally, the neighbour, who is clearly smarter than God, suggests ringing a locksmith. Brilliant! But it's going to cost $50, which I don't have on me. That's okay, says neighbour, who by this point I'm considering nominating for sainthood; we can put it on her credit card and I'll pay her back. So I go sit on the doorstep and wait for locksmith. Within ten minutes, H's b/f N has shown up with a spare key and let me in, so I run next door to cancel the locksmith.

*le sigh* IT WAS A VERY DRAMATIC AFTERNOON, and then I had to go take choir.