You want to know what's frustrating? Not being able to get into your house after being on the road for 16 hours.
When Brent and I arrived to our home, well after midnight last Friday night, we were unable to get it. No, we hadn't locked ourselves out. Our house locked us out. Well, not really but it sounded funny.
You see, ever since we returned from Israel, our glass door/screen door (though it has not screen and is only glass. hmmm) has been sticking. When you turn the handle on any door, the sticky-outy-thing that keeps it closed, withdraws, thus allowing you to open the door. (Do you love my technical terms, cuz I do!) On our glass door the sticky-outy-thing was sticking before we left. When we arrived back home in the middle of the night it was completely broken. You could turn that handle till the cows came home and it was not opening up!
"Why didn't you just go in through the garage door?"
Well, people, it's like this. We live in the hood! And our house is old. There is no entrance from the garage to the house. Yep. I have to go outside to get into the garage where the washer and dryer are. At least we have a washer and dryer though, eh? (No, I'm not Canadian.)
Why didn't you go int he back door?"
Come on people! We look that screen door too! (And yes, that one actually has a screen.)
OK, let me describe the scene for you.
12:13a.m. (not really. I don't know what the exact time was but I like details!)
I have slept the last hour or two and am groggy and grumpy and just want to unload the truck and crawl into my big, soft, king size bed.
Brent has been driving since 6:30a.m. and is exhausted.
Brent has gotten the big stuff out of the back of the truck and is at the front door.
I'm unloading all of my bajillion little things that have been strewn all over the back seat. I hear the Brent jiggling the handle on the door. Then I hear him trying to yank the door open. Then I think he's going to pull the door off it's hinges while shattering the glass and become concerned.
He yells "The glass door is locked!". I say "No it's not. That's impossible." (Unless of course we have leprechauns or elves living in our house who wanted to play a trick on us. They do that sort of thing, you know.) Brent says through gritted teeth "Yes it is." and begins yanking on the door with all his might. I run to the porch to stop him from totally destroying the door.
We then proceed to get screw drivers out to try and pry it open and even consider taking the door off but that would be a really bad idea. I get two screwdrivers in my hands and try to get the sticky-outy-thing pushed back into the door so we can get it open and I almost had it, about 13 times and lost it. Brent sees that it is hopeless and we are too tired and grumpy to be sensible and says "You're done. Call your Mom and Dad."
So, we call the folks and spend the night at their house.
Next day, Dad and Brent get the door open. How? Dad used the screwdrivers and did what I tried to do the night before. Way to go Dad.
Now we have no handle whatsoever on our glass door because I was not about to let my house lock me out again.