Predictably, the Powers That Be have bounced up to subtly let me know I lack the capacity to adequately take care of a home of my own.
I was supposed to go Go-Karting with the guys from work last week, so I bolted home a few minutes early, swapped skirt and heels for jeans and runners, grabbed a thick cosy jacket and hurtled out the door.
That’s the noise a door makes when it locks itself between you and your keys. I slipped into a coma for a full minute while my brain processed that bit of information. I walked to my car and tentatively tried the door – nope, I’d locked that too. With my purse and phone inside. I stared blankly at the house for a while, feeling remarkably similar to the way I felt when presented with my end-of-semester physics exam in 1998.
Eventually, I clambered up onto one of my wheelie bins and vaulted over the fence (because my side gate, too, was locked). I did a lap of the house, trying every single window and entry. Then I made another lap for good measure, and wandered into the garage and looked around aimlessly for ‘tools’ I knew I didn’t have. Then I bit my lip and grimly told myself I was a strong independent woman and I CAN HANDLE THIS MYSELF, FOOL.
Ok, I thought, I need to call someone. But who? There’s only a handful of people with phone numbers I know by heart. My parents, my bestie in Canberra, my ex with the Inexplicably Hateful Girlfriend, Pizza Hut, and my work. Work seemed like my best bet, so I walked two kilometers down the road to the nearest pay phone, hoping someone would still be in the office at 5.00pm, and thankful that those annoying 1800REVERSE ads with Pat Rafter had sank into my subconscious. The German Production Manager answered.
“Sweetheart my car is in the servicing, I don’t can come help you until later. You want I maybe call one the other boys and see off they can help opening?”
“They’re Go-Karting and won’t be finished for another couple of hours. I’ll just go home and figure something out.”
“You go back to your unit. I come as soon as I have my car, off I don’t hear from you I assuming you don’t can get in still. Then I come over.”
I tramped dejectedly home and glared at the house again. I knew what I had to do, but it took me a good fifteen minutes to work up the grit to do it.
Nothing will liven you up quite like crawling on hands and knees through shards of glass.
New window pane: $120
Reverse calling charges: $6.80
Loss of dignity and increasing aversion to spending the rest of my life as a misanthropic catlady spinster: Priceless
At least it’s not a booze related activity.