You can’t make this stuff up.

It’s been a week since my last shift at the White House Black Market. Yes, this is where I worked for a year and, no, the discounts were not that great.

Most of my days afterward have been spent looking like trailer trash and eating like a pig. The glory of sloth and gluttony cannot be better pronounced than it has been in my last week. It’s just marvelous.

Yesterday, I think my state-of-the-trash was at its summit when there was a sharp rap on the front door. Crap. Today was the day they were showing our duplex to potential buyers, and there I was in, not one, but TWO smelly wife-beaters and no pants.

^_^ v

Quickly, I put on some pajama bottoms, hoping maybe my bad hair and attire would scare the people away. I also told them I was sick, but if they wanted to see the house, they could. I figured, I’d let them wander about and I’d retreat back into the bedroom.

Only, I had somehow locked myself out of my own bedroom.

The beautiful irony comes in the fact that we NEVER lock this door. How do you “accidentally” lock a door on the way out? It’s one of those locks on the knob that you turn. You don’t even press it.  The door had never even locked itself before, yet it chose this perfect moment to make a complete fool out of me in front of complete strangers.

So, there I was, in my trailer trash attire, still groggy from my unemployment nap, locked out of my own bedroom in front of a nice elderly couple and their over-dressed real estate agent. They had wanted to see the bedroom and this shady little dirty Asian chick wasn’t letting them in. Great. They probably thought I was a meth addict or something.

I tried to IM the boyfriend while they were here and ask if he knew where the bedroom keys were but all he did was ask questions back. I don’t blame him. It’s not everyday that your girlfriend IMs you frantically out of nowhere, asking about a set of keys you don’t even know you have. I think he started freaking out himself because I wasn’t answering him when he kept asking what was going on. He didn’t know I was (quite poorly) entertaining guests at the moment.

Finally, I came back to tell him what had happened. Like the great boyfriend that he is, he laughed at me.

I didn’t want to wait several hours for him to come home and look for a bunch of keys that might or might not be in the house. I was getting worried about Bella being locked inside the bedroom with no bathroom access. I had to take matters into my own hands.

Someone from an online community I frequent suggested that I use a credit card or something similar to pick the lock.  I had never done such a thing before and had never imagined it would ever work.  Still, desperate times…

I looked through my wallet to see if I had a card I didn’t need.  There it was.  My White House Black Market Associate card.  HAH!

Several minutes later, I had managed to break into my own bedroom.  I bet that elderly couple would have loved to see that.

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