My Less-Than-Excellent Adventure

I'm too tired to take on a heavy subject tonight so I'm just going to tell what happened today. This tale will probably give a psychologist pause, but ...

I'm prone to allergies twice a year: hayfever in October and mountain cedar in February. There are years when allergies absolutely lay me low. However, February had seemed mild until very recently. I've had a nasty post-nasal drip which alternated with a pounding sinus headache all week.

I'd soldiered on until today when I had both the headache and stomach issues from the post-nasal drip. I emailed my boss to say I'd be at home, took a handful of meds and went back to bed.

I woke up to the sound of the garbage truck rumbling down my street. Like Pavlov's dog hearing the bell, I responded instantly, leaping out of bed. Grabbing my garbage, I ran out the back door. I flung the plastic bags over my fence to the curb on the street.

Pleased that I hadn't missed trash day, I returned to the house to find my back door locked.

There I stood in my Lanz of Salzburg blue-and-white full-length nightgown and my purple slippers ... without a way inside ... because I had used the spare key stored outside the house when I locked myself out about a week ago and had not yet returned the key to its hidey hole.

My next-door neighbor used to have a key to the house until I recently changed out a key cylinder that had begun to stick in the dead bolt. I'd been meaning to have extra keys made, but hadn't gotten around to it yet.

I was not crazy about the idea of traipsing across the lawn dressed as I was to a neighbor--especially one with teenage boys--to borrow a phone.

I am an impulsive soul. I decided the fastest way to get back into my nice warm bed was to just break a window and worry about the repairs later. I picked up a decorative concrete cat from a flower bed and swung it at the bottom half of my double-hung bedroom window.

The cat bounced off the window.

I should mention that I'd broke into my house once before. I'd replaced the demolished glass pane with shatter-proof glass. I just hadn't realized how strong the new glass was.

I slammed the concrete cat into the window twice more before giving up. I viewed the rear of the house, trying to decide on a new plan.

Replacing the glass in the decorative French doors would be frightfully expensive. My bathroom has horizontal windows only a foot wide and ten feet above me.

That left the guest bathroom. Again the window was rather high--shoulder height for short me--and not really very big. I guessed each half of the double-hung window was about 18" X 22".

But beggars can't be choosers. I pulled a cast iron patio chair over and climbed onto it. Then I slammed the concrete cat into the top half of the window.

The glass shattered in a very loud and satisfying manner. I picked shards of glass out of the window frame. Once it was safe to reach in, I unlocked the window--grateful the alarm wasn't activated--and slid the window open.

The next problem was that the window was still too high and not wide enough for me to climb in feet first. I would have to go through face first, which meant a drop of about four and a half feet on the other side. Oh, well ... in for a penny, in for a pound.

I removed the planter sitting on the window sill along with my large bottle of Vita Bath (Original Spring Green Scent) and stuck my head through.

Fifty-four inches never looked so far. Especially since I would be landing on hard ceramic tile ... head first.

Making like a lizard moving down a wall, I slowly edged through: head, shoulders, chest, waist. I was VERY grateful for the privacy fence behind me. I didn't want to think about the rear view I was offering the world.

Once my hips made it through, I was over-balanced and things speeded up. I tumbled, tucking my head into my chest as I rolled.

Touchdown was painful. I heard a crack which I believe was my left thumb. Somehow my nightgown tore in multiple places, and the tops of my bare feet scraped across the bricks outside the window. I also cut my forehead and scratched my chin on the stray bits of glass on the floor.

But I was inside. I lay on the floor, assessing my injuries while Bob The Cat licked my face. He had been quite frantic watching my assault on his home from the hallway.

I suspected I'd broken my thumb but, like Scarlett O'Hara, decided to worry about it later. I washed my hands and face, put on a warm flannel nightgown, took some Motrin, and went to bed.

When I woke, my thumb was still painful and pretty swollen, but I've broken fingers before. It didn't hurt as much as some have, and I still had a window to fix. The weatherman said the temp would be 39 degrees overnight.

I measured the window: 21" x 16 1/8". Headed to Home Depot, which no longer cuts glass. Grrrr. Went to Lowe's where a teenage boy cut three different panes before he got one right. Came home, slapped the window in--perfect. In less than an hour, I had caulked the window and cleaned up the mess in the bathroom.

Still have to address the extra key situation. The only window left for me to break on the rear of the house is the bottom half of that bathroom window ...