There was nothing that caused my sisters and I more grief when we were kids than the spare house key. We were some of those poor "latch-key" kids you always hear about, so we had to use a spare key to get into the house after school. For some reason we had a hard time remembering to put it back in its hiding place after unlocking the doors so we got locked out of the house on several occasions.
The first time we were locked out of the house, we freaked out. We got home from school one day and though the back door to the garage was unlocked, the door to the house was not. We went around to the sliding glass door in the backyard and looked in the window to see the spare key sitting on the kitchen table. That's when we realized that we were going to be locked outside for at least three whole hours. At that thought, we gave up on life and plopped down on the lawn in despair. What were we going to do? This was clearly the most awful thing we could imagine.
Other kids would have just gone next door to their friends' houses to play until their parents got home. Not us. We stayed there and contemplated our imminent destruction. Anytime we'd hear the phone ring inside the house we'd burst out in tears, sure it was our parents calling. They were calling to save us but we were unable to answer. So close yet so far away. Our parents were sure to come home to the dead shriveled bodies of their precious children pressed up against the window, just inches away from the phone that could have saved their lives.
This was such a traumatizing event in fact, that while we were waiting for our demise, we made sure to leave a note for future generations to read so that they'd know what had happened to the Holley sisters. In the drywall putty on the garage wall we carved the following message with the pointed end of a rusted file...
"April XX, 1988 Corinne, Karen and Annie were locked out of the house for three hours without food or water."
Imagine our shock when Dad finally came home and instead of sympathy we were met with a tone of "so what." Here we thought we'd had this tragic experience, sitting on the lawn just waiting for him to get home for three hours and he was stunned at our stupidity. Why hadn't we just went out and played like usual? It was a nice Spring day for crying out loud.
Realizing how dumb we had been was even worse than not getting the monument built in our honor that we'd hoped for. From that day on, getting locked out of the house wasn't such a big deal. We became like three little MacGyvers when it came to finding a way in. Give us a trash can, a bucket and a piece of string and we were inside in 10 seconds flat.
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2 comments:
Hey Karen, your blog is pretty funny except for your entry about the spiders. That was all too real to me- I totally understand where you're coming from. In college I discovered Raid and I've never been without it since. I routinely spray down the foundations, door frames, and window frames wherever I live and that helps, but you know the little devils are devious and still find a way in. In that case I am convinced that's what husbands are for (hopefully he's home when I find a bugger!)- but I must put out a warning here to all who have others kill for you: Demand evidence! I have known men who "kill" spiders for their wives but in truth the spider got away and they don't mention that part. I would much rather clean a smear off the wall than wonder if the monster will be back to get me.
Isn't it funny how kids think? Sometimes they're SO imaginative and other times they don't imagine the practically obvious!
I'm glad you survived that near-brush with starvation. :D
XO--H.
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