Window Dressing?

This week, I am not fit to mingle with normal people.

Perhaps, in another month, during another week, this would be a false statement. I like people. I enjoy conversation. I accept that any stranger could become a friend—you know, assuming he or she has good hygiene. 

On the whole, I frolic through life with a smile, seemingly competent and at ease with my surroundings.

But this week, I am just off balance enough to be dangerous.

Morning Rituals

Without getting into the weeds, accept my claim that this week has been very busy with work. Early, early (did I mention early?) mornings have met with very late nights; afternoons have been rushed, leaving no time for cooked meals, the gym, or a much-needed oil change. My car and my body continue to make their disapproval known.

It takes an extra 5 seconds to process Sisterita’s question about buying more coffee, and I often find myself approaching the microwave with fresh produce in my hands (which would have ended quite badly). One morning, I put on two different heels...of differing heights. If I was the daring sartorial sort, that could have been forgiven as avant garde. Alas, it was simply sleep deprived delirium. There are several to-do lists floating around in my brain, and they are distracting me.

And, Good Reader, a preoccupied me is a very dangerous me. 

I locked myself, quite consciously, out of my house and car. I actually locked the door and pulled it shut as I was mentally going through the steps, “Grab lunchbox, have my coat, oh yeah, the keys…” Door closes. 

Aftermath: Perspective in the Present

 I stand there—disbelief and astonishment staring back at me from the glass reflection of the door.

Surely to be late to an important data meeting, this requires me to execute a series of humiliating exercises:

1. Alert my boss and her boss (Chair of the board, anyone?) to my folly. “Yes. No. I knew it was locked. No, I don’t have a spare in my mailbox. Yes, I may have to do a B&E.”
2. Curse loudly as I try to wiggle the doorknob open. Futile effort if there ever was one.
3. Walk around aimlessly in the yard in search of an open window.
4. Locate an unlatched window to realize that it is FAR too high to climb into. Use the TRASH CAN to climb high enough to open the window…fail to shimmy into the open space.
5. Visit every neighbor on the block in search of a step ladder.
6.  Finally, wake the next door neighbor, who plays Marvin Gaye at all hours of the day, and request assistance.

The 4 inch heels

Well, Marvin-Gaye-the-Neighbor rescued me. He judged me the entire time. I mean, who wouldn’t? I showed up on his doorstep, with lots of unnecessary hand gestures and apologies—while describing my trash can climbing attempts—in a silk dress and 4 inch heels.

Not only did he come over to assess the situation, but he CLIMBED my trash can when his stool was too short, and climbed into the bathroom window. 

…his shorts may have gotten stuck on the brick. 

He may (or may not) have lost his shorts, revealing his preference for “Commando” dress style in the process. 

I may (or may not) have stood below wondering why the hell my parents gave all the common sense to Sisterita.

After the fastest house-crossing trip in history, Marvin-Gaye-the-Neighbor let me into my own door AND wheeled the trash can around front for me.

I am too embarrassed to take him “thank you” cookies, but I feel it is absolutely required.

Resolution ~ I had a spare key made this week.