My mother was in town this past weekend to help take care of “wedding stuff” for my sister. She stayed with me in my wee apartment.
She was expected Friday evening – but she called me at work to tell me she was running early. Way early.
I thought I was going to have at least a couple of hours to be home and ummm, tidy up before her arrival.
No, no, no such luck. She called me at work and said she was running early and would probably be waiting outside my apartment for me when I got home for work.
This would just not do. I had dishes piled up in the sink, laundry everywhere, the bed wasn’t even made and sheesh, the dust bunnies!
So, in order to buy some time to do some last minute tidying – I did what any self-respecting-daughter-with-horrible-housekeeping-skills would do… when I got home I parked on the next block over and crawled up the fire escape staircase and hopped over the roofs of the two connected buildings to get to the roof door of my building to sneak in the back way.
(Oh, gentle reader, I wish I was kidding about that – but sadly I am not. I twisted my knee climbing this tiny wall barrier between buildings - the only thing missing was the combat roll over the cold tarred roof)
Considering a lot of this joint I live in is shoddy, I assumed the roof door would have a lock and I could simply use my front door foyer key to get in.
Wrong, of course. There was no keyhole. It can only be opened from the inside.
Which is nice, for, you know, security reasons. Not so nice for trying to sneak in super-stealth mode reasons.
So I had to call through the window to my neighbor, “Jane! Jane! It’s ann-frank – are you home?”
Assuming she could hear me through the window, the hall and the walls of her apartment. No luck.
But apparently neighborboy’s Spidey Senses were in full swing that night because somehow, way down the hall – he heard me. And in his best-man-protecting the building kinda way he answered, “Jane is not here. Whoever you are – go away before I call the police.”
“Denny,” I yelled through the window, quite annoyed with his sudden pissing on his territory machismo maneuvers, “Denny! It’s ann-frank, let me in!.”
I hear his footsteps pounding down the hall to the window. “ann-frank, what the hell are you doing?”
“My mother’s in town and I am incognito! Now let me in, punk!”
So, he did.
And oh, gentle reader, my plan would have worked perfectly if it weren’t for Day Light Savings Time. If it weren’t for Daylight Savings Time, it would not have been dark at that time of day, which would not have necessitated my turning on the light to make bed, fold the laundry, wash dishes and sweep dust bunnies.
So yeah, I turned on the least amount of farking illumination I could to do such tasks, and half way through the dishes I hear …
That’s right: Les jeux sont faites.
(Translation. The game is up. Your ass is mine. )
My mother is downstairs hitting the buzzer.
Down the stairs, I open the door.
“I saw your turn light on, so I knew you were home. How did you get in?”
“Umm, well, you know, I’ve got my ways.”
*for the record my mom is one of the coolest people in the world and is well aware of my sloth-ways … but you know … it’s my mom…
p.s. spankin machine alert!