I’m sure I’m not the only person to start the new year locked out of the house wearing, well, nothing at all. My point of difference here is sobriety.

I looked at the dog. He looked at me. I tried the door again. Definitely locked from the inside. The car had long left the driveway, bearing the culprit to work.

First things first: back to the laundry, where my recently-removed clothing had indeed already started into the wash cycle. The dog and I took stock. Worst case scenario, we’d be stuck out here for say, five hours. And the dog food was on our side of the door.

Our assets: My brain. His bark. An unlocked window. An unlocked garage. Clean clothes on the line.

Our liabilities: My brain. His bark. My torn calf muscle.

We agreed that a walk to the police station would be our plan of last resort.

We set to work with a ladder and brute force. This failed to fully dislodge the flyscreen from the window. Our retreat to the garage yielded a strange metal spiky thing, which was used to effect a full opening of the window, thus allowing the screen to be removed.

The dog and I looked at the window. So inviting and yet so far from the top of the ladder. Being the taller of the two, I volunteered for the first attempt. Headfirst? Leg first? Our liabilities were working against us.

With some unusual biomechanics, I made it in through the window without getting any part of my body in the litter tray or the toilet. Success!

The dog waited outside the window for me to pull him up the ladder. He’s not dumb, that dog.

I’ve counted back through the years, and so far, this is the best new year’s day ever: French toast, nudity, ingenuity, dexterity, aplomb.

May the rest of 2010 proceed in a similar fashion.


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