I started off the day with an amazing screw-up. Readying the house for some morning guests, I put some items in the Reading Room closet and closed the door. As soon as I heard that click, I thought, wasn’t there a reason this door is never closed?
Then we went about the business of having fun with our guests, followed by lunch, followed by a mother-daughter nap, followed by getting ready to go to yoga at the library.
This is when the screw-up came to light. The closet door would not open. What was in the closet? My winter coat and my purse. And my car keys, my driver’s license, my money, my credit card, my cell phone.
Naturally, I spent five minutes banging the door and uttering faux-swear words (because there were children nearby, and while I completely condone violence toward doors, I strictly prohibit swearing at them). Then Ben came along and spent five more minutes gently coaxing and tugging. (His way was so zen-like that it made me want to punch things. Namely the door.)
The door was clearly off duty, so the only solution in order to make it to yoga on time was to have a designated driver. Ben chauffeured us to library yoga, where Sigourney had a massively successful dirty diaper and where 20 minutes into tossing sunflowers and turning windmills Erma turned to me and said, “This is fun. When is it over?”
After that, we went home to try to wake up the door some more. More specifically, Ben went into the house and came out with my purse. I can’t say exactly what happened between him and the door, but in my mind it involved some type of MacGuyver move (possibly involving gum).
Erma and I celebrated with a trip to our favorite chain self-serve yogurt bar.
The door taught me a lesson: think hard before closing a door, as there may not be a window nearby to open instead. Deep thoughts for a yogi day, eh?