The Psycho Ex Wife

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I was sitting here in my office, staying late today, and laughing about the start of my day.

I’m staying late today because I arrived late.

I got up early to a fresh pot of coffee. As I poured the hot, steaming cup of morning goodness in my boxers and t-shirt, the sun was gleaming through the trees and I decided I would enjoy my java out on the patio… in the work state… no children… no DW. What a glorious morning. GLORIOUS.

As I pull the door shut behind me, something doesn’t quite feel right. I never lock the handle when I’m home. Only the deadbolt. Somehow, I manage to lock the handle and there I am in all of my boxer-shorted, bed-headed, t-shirted beauty. The van is locked. The keys are in the house. The windows I can readily access are closed. The phone is in the house.

I stand there with “that look” on my face. A walk to the nearest phone I could use is easily an hour and who am I gonna call? The property owner’s numbers are in my cellphone. I’d be arrested by the time I got there anyway!

As I walk down my drive I am relieved to see BOTH of their cars still in the driveway towards at the main home. A rare thing indeed, even at the early hour. Despite my first intuition being …they’re staying in for some morning love… I approach the door and knock hard.

When no one comes to the door despite two cars and several open garage doors, I’m certain that they’re engaged in the throes of passion.

So, I knock again and again. Not so much as a stir from within the home.

I resign myself to the fact that people are going to wonder why I didn’t show up for work. No call. No note. No nothin’. They will panic when I don’t answer my phone. Maybe they will call the police.

I sip my coffee in my boxers and t-shirt contemplating my next move when a carload of people - one of the landlord’s “crews” - pulls up and sees me standing there. I grin and say, Have any of you seen Mr. Landlord or Mr. Landlord?

(Laughter from the car and a wry smile from the driver, now reaching into the bed of Mr. Landlord’s trunk.) Lock yourself out, eh? You’re brilliant there, Chief.

They tell me that they’re walking their dogs along the road down by the farms and should be back shortly.

So, I sit on my wall and await their arrival… 40-minutes later… in my boxers and t-shirt. They laugh when I bid them good morning and they obviously know why I am standing dressed as I am. We make small talk about the summer and Mrs. Landlord comes out with the keys and we walk back up to my place and go through them one-by-one until we get the correct one.

I email work and let them know I’ll be about an hour late. Hey, at least they weren’t in the middle of a hot lovemaking session!

I was lucky they were actually home. I’m also very lucky that they’re such great people.