I Pity the Fool . . . Who is Myself

Yesterday, Todd and I attended the wedding of a friend/colleague of mine. It was a lovely wedding for a sweet couple. We saw my friends from work, chatted, ate, drank, and danced. Yes, Todd even danced one slow dance with me. I had way too much wine & performed my typical Kristin-talks-knocks-over-wine-glass routine (shout out Cathy!).

I went to the ladies room to dry off my new (thankfully black) pants that I dumped a 1/4 of a glass of (thankfully white) wine on. I used the restroom, washed my hands, went to leave, and the door was locked. There was a woman in a stall who was spending way too much time in there, so I didn't want to say anything. I'm sure she was ready for me to leave, so she could do her thing in private. I tried to pick the lock, but the knob had a key lock. I lightly knocked, shook the door a bit, and repeated. The sitter was still holding out in her stall.

I tried not to panic, but I started wondering when someone would come rescue me/us. How in the hell had I locked myself (us) in the bathroom? Even worse, who in the hell locked me (us) in the bathroom? Would Todd come looking for me (us) eventually? Would anyone save me (us)? Would the lady ever come out of her stall and help me, or would she do her business and asphyxiate me (us) first?

I stuck a long, needing-to-be-cut-down fingernail into the keyhole, thinking I could jiggle it loose enough to unlock. I started knocking again. Before I began calling for help through the cracks of the door, I looked around to see if I was being Punk'd. That's when I saw it.

The door. The door behind me. The same door I came in. My drunk ass was trying to break into a locked closet.

I'm still laughing at myself today. In fact, I'm laughing/crying as I finish typing this. I pity the fool who is myself, but she makes for some great stories!! My grandmother, Mary, would be so proud. :)