locked-out

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This weekend was the 2nd annual Brothers’ weekend at a cabin up north. Last year was pretty eventful:

  • The Beast had half of her whiskers melted by her oldest uncle when he tried to light the grill, dropped the match underneath the deck, and then tried to light the grill again, without turning the propane off. Feta was standing a wee bit too close. We kept an eye on her this year.
  • The Husband was thrown overboard by his youngest brother. He had on his prescription sunglasses and they ended up at the bottom of the lake.

I wasn’t too sure what to expect now, but we made a few preparatory steps to prevent any repeat mishaps. The Husband’s had lasik since last summer and we knew we needed to keep a close eye on Feta around this group. We thought we’d be made in the shade, drinking delicious Skittles vodka that the pyromaniac oldest brother made and eating s’mores.

The oldest and 3rd oldest brother had the two boats at the launch, so they were in need of some help from The Husband. He took The Beast to drive one boat over to the cabin, where I was to stand on the dock so they knew they were at the right place.

I drive to the cabin. Almost hit a deer in the driveway. In the middle of the afternoon. They’re out at that time in the day?

I had gotten the key from the cabin owner earlier in the week. We rented this place last year, so I was pretty confident that everything, as far as the cabin went, would be the same.

Try the front door: key doesn’t work.

Try the back basement door: key doesn’t work.

Try the two screen doors to get onto the porch and be able to try the side door.

Locked.

Locked.

By this point, we’d been in the car for a while. And I had to pee. I sat on the porch steps and contemplated my options:

  1. Pee in my pants. Nope, not an option. Gross.
  2. Pee in the yard. Also not an option. Too many neighbors around outside.
  3. Wade into the lake in my jeans and pee in there. Not this one either. These were my only long pants. I needed to protect myself from mosquitoes. Not that they ended up helping anyway. Those jerks love the taste of my Irish blood.

Just when all my options seemed to have disappeared. I remembered that there was a sliding door on the back deck. All I had to do was climb from where I was (stairs of the porch) to the back deck. And not pee my pants.

Easy.

Well, maybe not.

I’m not the most athletic or flexible person. It was going to be quite the feat.

To help illustrate, I made a diagram in Excel. Be impressed.

Not drawn to scale. Obviously. And don’t mind the grid-lines, either.

So here I sit. What else is there for me to do?

I straddled the gap, praying that I don’t fall.

Note: flipflops are not the proper cabin scaling footwear. This was discovered once I was already hovering 15 feet over concrete.

I tripped onto the deck and have to regain my composure, positive that no one will believe this.

I walked over to the sliding doors.

Locked.

And locked.

At this point, I almost just peed right there on the deck, but then I look to my right and see my definite last chance: the screen door going from the back deck to the screened-in porch.

Deep breath.

It’s open!

And the key works in the side door!

I rushed and have never felt so relieved in my life.

I came out of the cabin with just enough time to see The Husband pulling the boat up to the dock, with The Beast doing her best Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet impression.

Great way to start a relaxing weekend.

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