OK, I was seriously locked out of the house for two hours on Saturday. I didn’t know that Henry wasn’t going to be home when I came home from class, so I left my purse in the house. And my cell phone.
I got home at 11 and sat on the cold porch steps for about thirty minutes, doing some Calculus and attempting to manage my anger. Fake Nurse (The Original, not the New Neighbor Edition) came home but we’re still doing that Mexican Standoff thing so I didn’t dare ask to use her phone. Then I was afraid I’d get hemmorhoids, so I moved back inside the car, which was surprisingly toasty thanks to the late morning sun.
11:35: I stared at my Calculus book.
11:40: Played with split ends.
11:41: Sucked on hair.
11:50: Fell asleep.
11:57: Woke up, remembered, cried.
12:00: Almost peed.
12:01: Felt sorry for myself.
12:03: Shot at joggers with my finger gun.
12:05: Practiced finger-snapping. (Still can’t.)
This cycle continued until 1pm, when I finally broke down and knocked on the door to Robin’s Meth Lab. Fortunately, Henry pulled up to the curb just then, looking confused by my whereabouts.
Of course I blamed him.
“Why didn’t you go to a payphone and call me?” he asked, trying not to laugh.
I didn’t have my wallet!
“Why didn’t you drive down the street to McDonald’s to use their bathroom?”
And then he just started laughing. Laughing in the face of my tears.
“You would die. You know that? You would die out there.” He said he wished I had a camera on my head, like the survivor guy on that Discovery Channel show, so he could see me kicking around pebbles and roaming the yard in tight circles.
Henry’s going to Detroit for two days this week for job training. Please send someone to feed me and my child.