Last night I was locked in the laundry room.
The door knob has been acting up for a while, but I still shut the door behind me so the dog would stay with me and I could give her a treat.
Then I couldn't get out.
Between me and my television-watching husband was the laundry room door, the closed bathroom door (our laundry room is off of our bathroom...I didn't want you to think that my husband was watching television in the bathroom...although, I'm sure he would...actually I'm surprised he hasn't asked for a flat screen above the tub yet) and about ten feet.
First I knocked. Then I yelled his name. Then I banged and knocked some more. Then I yelled some more.
Fifteen minutes later when I had dissolved into hysterical laughter, he rescued me.
I had been envisioning myself spending the night in the laundry room. I had even been envisioning my children finding me days from now dead and curled up with the dog.
Okay, that's not true. I'd eat that damn dog long before I'd die. Sorry, but if it was me or her, well, I'd be cooking her in the dryer.
Oh, wait. I suppose I could eat her Purina ProPan before I'd have to resort to that. Heck, between her treats and the water in the laundry room sink, I could have a pretty sweet life in there.
And by the time anyone found me I'd probably have lost some significant weight. It would be like a vacation really. A vacation at a health spa!
Excuse me. I'm going to go get the dog a treat again. I might shut the door behind me. Maybe no one will think to look for me until school starts in the fall.