This is a picture of the kitchen window in our house. Ceci n'est pas une pipe. Let me tell you a story about this window. (I left Moxie's water cup up there as a reference point. A much larger object recently traveled through it.)
When we moved in, I was saddened to discover that very few windows in our house open. How will I listen to the rain? How will I cool down the house? I couldn't figure out how to open this particular window at the time, but it turns out it does open with a little luck, muscle, and desperation.
David & I had planned to take Moxie for a walk to go look at a new house our friends are moving into and also maybe to get some things from the corner store. I can't even tell you how often D lectures me about not taking my keys and wallet with me ANY TIME I LEAVE THE HOUSE, so I expected that he followed his own advice (knowing I wouldn't) and I locked the door behind us.
Much to my surprise, David refused to open the car for me so I could retrieve my coat and scarf. How rude...until he explained that he didn't have his keys. Oh...uh...heh. This realization led to much haranguing - first by him because he hates it when I lock the lock you don't have to have a key for, and then by me because he was being so mean to me, and then by Moxie because she thought we were going to visit her bassett hound friends.
When I got locked out of my parents' house, there was a garage code. When I was locked out of my OC dorm, I could have the RA let me in. When I was locked out of my HU apartment, I could jimmy my way in using my ID. None of those solutions works for our new house - there isn't a garage, our landlady is rarely home, and I broke a CD trying to get our back lock open. This left one final option - looking for a weak window to take out and breaking in to our own house.
Which is how I found myself, at 23 years old, scrambling on my (crowded) kitchen counter like a spider (where did all these appendages come from and where can they go in this situation?) with David trying simultaneously to support my weight and calm down Moxie, who was whining like a maniac. I guess her delicate puppy brain can't handle strange situations like that. Mine either, dog. Mine either. (Though that may just be because I dinged my head on the windowsill.)
