My wife and I went skinny dipping. Oh, it’s not as titillating as it sounds
(though I do love the word “titillating”).
It was hotter than Satan’s buttcrack. The kids were napping and our pool
is private. So we shed our clothes in the house, went out back and took
a quick dip.
And when our dip was over, we attempted to get back into our house and
into our clothing…and that’s where we ran into a little problem. My lovely
wife somehow violated every known law of physics and LOCKED the sliding
glass door behind her as she exited the house. This was (let me emphasize
the past tense nature of the verb) WAS the only unlocked door to the house.
All our windows were secured. All the keys to my home were safely residing
within. I had no way to gain entry into my abode without breaking something.
Oh, and I was naked. Did I mention that part? I didn’t have a pocket full
of
miracles or a trick up my sleeve. I had a sun-bleached towel in one hand
and
my dick in the other.
So I trotted to the front door, wearing my towel like a skirt, and began
ringing
the doorbell. My plan was to wake up Junior have him unlock the door. At
3 years old, he has door-unlocking skills, and I hoped to finally harness
this
power for good instead of evil.
Of course, my plan was doomed from the start. Junior was into one of his
DEEP sleeps, and when he’s like that, there is no way to rouse him with a
mere doorbell. You could have Motorhead play “Ace of Spades” with
Lemmy using Junior’s pillow for a mic stand and the kid wouldn’t notice.
So I stood at my front door, naked, but for a towel, ringing my doorbell
about a thousand times while the Good People of my neighborhood
pretended not to notice.
I was almost out of options. The only ones I had left were – break in or
wait it out. Well the baby was going to need to eat soon, and Junior was
going to sleep for God-knows how many hours, so…I broke in.
Did I mention I didn’t have any clothes?
I have a dog. She is a scary dog. She keeps my garage safe via a pet door.
I am just small enough that when I took off my towel, I was able to squeeze
through the pet door into my garage. Once inside, I went to work on the
(locked) door between my garage and pants.
To say that I was naked, when I broke in would be a lie. I put on safety
glasses.
Then I jammed a screwdriver into the lock and proceeded to beat the
bejabbers out of it with a hammer. Once the driver was into the keyhole
far enough to totally fuck up both items, I gave it a mighty twist.
But not mighty enough.
In fact, I barely moved it. I wanted to bust the lock, not the door. I contemplated
breaking a window, but that plan involved crawling naked through broken glass,
so went back to work on the lock. I hammered it. I drilled it. I called it
really bad
names. I did it loudly. I did it directly beneath my sleeping son’s bedroom.
The lock was not going to budge. I was going to have to mess up the door.
There is a certain liberation one feels when it’s obvious that you no longer
need
to be careful. I adjusted my safety glasses, struck a manly pose, fired up
the
Sawzall (thanks, Dad) and cut right through the door and deadbolt. I gave
the
door a love-tap, stepped over the splinters and into my shorts.
And when my wife finally stopped laughing, we enjoyed the sounds of sleeping
children.